Sea Glass
by SmurfLuvsCookies
Summary: One slip of paper. That's all it takes for your world to change forever, to break you like sea glass. But luckily for Annie, she has someone to pick up the pieces. Everything about Annie's Hunger Games and afterward. Previously titled Annie's Games.
1. District Four: The Reaping

**Okay, so just a quick authors note before we begin. This is basically a story about Annie's Hunger Games, how she won, how she met Finnick. POV, of course, is Annie's. **

**Notice: Chapters are slightly revised, but nothing in the plot was altered. **

****DISCLAIMER! Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins, though I wish my lazy brain had come up with such a brilliant idea. **

* * *

**D**istrict **F**our - **T**he **R**eaping

* * *

Stepping off the boat gives me a sense of loss, as it always does. On a boat I can forget myself, my problems, even if I'm hauling nets of wriggling silver fish aboard with my brother and father. We aren't working today, of course. It's reaping day. No one works. But my father insisted that we take the boat out, so we do. We even bring my mother along. She doesn't fish with us normally, because she often gets sea sick. I don't know how she can handle it, walking by the shore every day and not feel the compulsion to run into the water, to let the waves and the sand and the breeze engulf her. I don't know, maybe it's just me, but I always feel freer at the beach, rather than the claustrophobic town with it's squat buildings and fishy streets.

I'm not close with my mother for this reason. Not as close as I am to my father and brother. She even looks like an outsider in our family. The three of us share the same wavy brown hair, the same green eyes, the same pointed chin. She is fair haired, with brown eyes and a round, moon-like face. The only thing that my mother and I share is her slight build, though I am muscular after years of working on a fishing boat while she is skin and bone.

My father is lucky enough to own his own boat. Most people have to rent them from the district. As a result, their children can't work (only people over the age of fourteen can step onto a district boat), they don't catch as many fish, and they don't get paid as much. Families with younger children are often the families to go hungry. Being a Career district, you'd think that we wouldn't have to worry about hunger. Most of us don't. But there are a few, people who can't work, or can't swim, or have young children, that die of starvation.

My family is one of the lucky ones. My brother and I, we don't have to worry about starving. My parents don't have to worry about filling our bellies. We go out every day, catch fish, sell some to stores, and keep some for ourselves. Since my father owns his own boat, he is free to fish where he pleases, as long as it's not in the waters that belong to the Capitol. If you fish in Capitol waters, or rent a district boat, all of the fish must be sold. You can't keep it.

Our boat is our survival.

I walk home with my family, enjoying the sea breeze while I can. When we get home, I will have to scrub myself clean and let my mother mold me into a thing of beauty for the reaping. The 70th Hunger Games are about to begin. I am worried for my brother, Quincy, because today is his last reaping. The odds are neither in his favor nor against it, since we've never had to sign up for a tessera. But, being a Career district, not a lot of people do. There aren't too many names in that glass ball.

I'm not worried about myself. I'm only sixteen, and compared to the other girls my age, I am healthy and strong. At least half of them have had to sign up for tesserae.

We step into our little house. My mother fills a bath with cool water. This normally only happens once a week, because fresh water is often scarce in District Four. Normally we bathe in salt water or we don't bathe at all.

Still, this is reaping day, and we must be looking our best. I undress and step into the cool water, washing until I am raw. Then I step out, and dress in an outfit my mother has laid out for me. It's not one of her old reaping outfits, I know this. My mother was a twig when she was my age. I wonder if it is new. I've never seen it, but it doesn't look new. Maybe she borrowed it from a friend. Either way, I slip on the dress. It is a dark green cotton sundress, with shiny gold accents. She's also laid out gold sandals and gold, flower-shaped clip. I don't know what to do with the clip, so I just carry it with me to my mother. She towel dries my hair and gently brushes it out. Then she takes the top layer and uses the clip to hold it away from my face. Only the bottom layer of my hair cascades in waves to my waist. My bangs still flop onto my forehead though. There is little she can do about those.

Quincy is all set in a brown pair of pants and a blue button-down shirt with a collar. It is funny to watch him mess with the collar. He never dresses nicely. It's even funnier to watch him struggle with the dark blue necktie my father wants him to wear. I laugh and help him with it.

"Your wife is going to have a hell of a time with you," I say, straightening the tie.

"What wife?" Quincy replies. He doesn't plan on getting married at all, but I don't believe he'll stick to this vow. I've seen the way he looks at the merchant's daughter, Tally. I like Tally. She is smart and pretty and can out-bargain just about any sailor. If Quincy wasn't my brother, I would have tried to get them together long ago, but that would mean Quincy getting assigned a house of his own and moving out. Eventually this will happen whether he is married or not, but I want him with me as long as possible. I'm just selfish, I guess.

We walk to the square. In my opinion, it's one of the most hideous places in District Four. You can't see the ocean. Quincy walks over to his own area, where he is greeted by friends. I walk to my section. I have friends, but I don't care to talk to them right now. Most of them are chatty airheads, but I say that in the most affectionate way possible. I stand beside a quiet girl that I've spoken to on occasion. I think her name's Yara, but I'm not sure.

The mayor takes the stage, followed by seven other people. The first is Ophelia Trumblen, our Capitol mentor. The other six are past victors, coming on stage by the order in which they won the Games. There's Haro Mutch, Mags Atlais, Constance Truman, Ore Sumy, Nath Rutsea, and Finnick Odair. Only two of those victors will be forced to mentor us; three if one volunteers. Mayor Grubstein launches into a speech about Panem, the twelve districts, the Dark Days. Then Ophelia announces, "Ladies first!" and thrusts her hand into the glass ball. My stomach twists, and I swallow the lump in my throat. This is it.

"Annie Cresta!" Ophelia chirps.

The whole world stops. I can't be chosen. It's not possible. There must be a mistake. The group around me murmurs when I don't step up. Ophelia calls my name again, looking around the crowd vapidly as if she knows who Annie Cresta is. Yara gives me a good-natured push, and I walk forward. The others make a path for me. With each step, my chest tightens. When I get to the stage, I can't breathe.

"There she is!" Ophelia quips. She walks across the stage to the other glass ball. I have just enough time to pray for Quincy's safty before she is calling the boy tribute's name. "Quincy Cresta!"

I hope that someone volunteers for him. Who would be so cruel to make brother and sister fight against each other. Quincy...I can't kill Quincy.

No one volunteers for Quincy. Ophelia is beside herself, babbling on about how we have a matched set and that these are going to be the most dramatic games ever! As Quincy gets on stage, his is a dangerous shade of green underneath his sunbrowned skin. I feel his pain. It's bad enough to be chosen yourself, but for another family member to be chosen too...Mother and Father. I hope they don't loose both their children. I try to find them in the sympathetic crowd, but I don't see them. The mayor is saying words, but I don't hear what they are. The victors behind us are sizing Quincy and me up, comparing us, assessing us. I look back and meet Nath Rutsea's black eyes. They aren't calculating like the others. The travel up and down my body with something like hunger. I suppress a shudder.

Mayor Grubstein signals for Quincy and me to shake hands. We do. His hand is cold. Quincy, who is like sunlight. Has the sun inside him died?

Peacekeepers take us into custody. I insist that Quincy and I be placed in the same room, and he does the same, even struggling against the Peacekeeper. But in the end, I am enclosed in a lavish room by myself.

I sit on the silk blue sofa, curling up with a pillow in my lap. I can't sit still for long though. I begin to pace around the room, running my hands over strange things. The leatherbound books on the shelf. The string of pearls that decorates a basket. The smooth plaster wall. It is then that I notice there are no windows. I pace faster, feeling like a trapped animal. I am considering throwing a heavy marble bust against the wall so I can see the ocean when my father steps in. He doesn't have Mother with him, so I guess she's visiting Quincy. I run into his arms without hesitation. I can't help it. The sorrow, the panic, the anger, it all comes crashing down on me and I wail. He scoops me up and carries me to the sofa, cradling me, rocking me. His arms warm me, as if the ice in Quincy's skin has burrowed inside mine. When our time is almost up, he pulls back and cups my face in both his hands so I have to look him in the eye.

"Annie," he says. "You can win these. You're resouceful and clever and strong. Don't go down without a fight because of Quincy. But don't do something you'll regret. Don't do something you won't be able to live with."

I nod. A Peacekeeper steps inside to alert us that our time is up. My father wipes a tear from my eye and hugs me one last time. Then he is gone.

The next person to visit is my mother. Her face is red, so she must have visited Quincy already. She flutters over to me, her ghost-thin hands shaking badly. She hugs me and murmurs something like, "My baby girl, my baby girl". This must be hardest for her. A mother's worst fear, two fold. And my mother is so fragile, like sea glass. If one of us dies, I'm afraid she might shatter. But one of us will have to die for the other to survive.

My mother pulls herself together. She kisses my cheek and brushes hair off my forehead. "Baby, I want you to have something," she says. She unfastens a silver chain from her neck and holds it out to me. On it is a little pale pink pearl. It's the only thing my father had to propose to her with, so it was her engagement ring before my father scraped up enough money to buy her a real one. But she still wears it every day, this little pink pearl, looking so out of place on it's thick silver chain. "Take this as your district token. Will you do that for me?"

I nod, completely in awe. I have never seen my mother without this pearl around her neck, not once in my life. It is exclusively hers, and now she is giving it to me. I manage to stammer out, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, one-hundred percent," she says, fastening it around my neck. The pearl settles on the hollow of my throat, it's unfamiliar weight comforting in some way. With one last kiss on the cheek, she is gone too.

I don't really expect anyone else. A few of my airheaded friends visit me, but I don't really wish to see them right now. They tell me that it is an honor to be chosen, that the food is said to be splendid, that I get to spend a whole week with Finnick Odair. I don't mention that I don't care about Finnick. I don't say that the splendid food will probably be the last food I consume. I don't ask if it is such a big honor, then why didn't you volunteer? No, I don't through these things in their faces, because I know that they are trying to cheer me up. Trying, but not succeeding.

When at last they leave, I can't think of anyone else who would visit me. I do get a surprise though. Tally steps into the room. Her eyes are too bright, and her hair is dishevelled, and she looks a little breathless. She must have gone to see Quincy already. When one thinks that they have nothing to loose, they tell a lot of truths.

I can tell she's uncomfortable. We are okay friends, but I think she's here for Quincy more than me. She opens her mouth to wish me luck, but that would sound bad. If she's wishing me luck, then that means Quincy must die. I wonder what she told Quincy. Or if they even talked at all.

"He says you're coming back," she relays. "If it's the last thing he does."

"Well, then the joke's on him," I say. "He's the one coming home, not me."

We sit in silence until the Peacekeeper alerts us that our time is up. She stands and bites her lip, unsure of what to do. I give her a hug and I say, "I'll get him back to you. I promise."

She tries to reply, but the Peacekeeper takes her by the shoulder and guides her to the door.

I wait a while longer, fingering my mother's pink pearl. Finally, a Peacekeeper comes to bring me to the platform. I try to keep a straight face, but when I see Quincy, I can't help it. I sob.

And every single person in Panem sees this.

I quickly organize my face. This constant surveillance is going to take some time to get used to. Quincy somehow shrugs off his Peacekeeper and joins me at the entrance of the train. He throws an arm over my shoulders. It's comforting, but it fixes nothing. I'm still going to die.

Because Quincy Cresta is going to be the winner of the 70th Hunger Games whether he likes it or not.

* * *

**Yes, it IS the 70th Hunger Games. I did my math. I swear. In the book, it says that Annie wins the Games five years before the third Quarter Quell (sorry for the spoiler). And yes, Finnick DID win five years before Annie's Games, as it also says in the book. So there. You guys are lucky I went through all this trouble to get my dates right. I hate math.**

**~ Smurf **


	2. The Train: Planning

**Big twist in the last chapter huh? It never really said who Annie's partner was, so I figured I might as well take advantage of his anonymity. Anyway, hope you like this next chapter :) **

* * *

**T**he **T**rain - **P**lanning

* * *

Quincy's arm is still around my shoulder when we get on the train.

Now, this is no ordinary train. It's a high-class luxury train made in the Capitol, probably equipped with enough supplies on board to feed the entire population of District Four for at least one day. Maybe more. But we (me, Quincy, our mentors, and the crew, that is) will be here just long enough to eat dinner and watch the recap of the reapings. Then we will be out of the high-class, luxury train and whisked into a high-class, luxury Capitol guest room.

The people tell us that everything is at our disposal. Clothes, food, television; you name it, we could have it. Still, I stay in my reaping clothes. I've lost my appetite. And there is nothing on television that will ever interest me. In fact, the television at home only comes on when it's required.

Quincy is in the same state. We stay in my room for a while, not speaking, just holding on to one another. We are leaving what needs to be spoken unsaid. That one of us is going to die. Maybe both of us.

We stay like this until Ophelia tells us to come eat. I vaguely remember my friends telling me that the food is supposed to be beyond imagination, so my curiosity spikes despite the fact that I am not in the least bit hungry. Quincy and I follow Ophelia to the table, where the rest of our mentors are waiting. There is Finnick Odair, which is to be expected. The newest victors are always the ones to be forced to mentor. Then there is Mags Atlais, which is also not a surprise since she is the only female victor who is fit to mentor us. Our other one, Constance Truman, is a morphling addict. She's so bad, in fact, that her doctors say she will not live to greet the victors of these Hunger Games. But a third face surprises me. No one really ever volunteers to mentor unless a particularly close friend is chosen and they want to do their best to keep them safe. Which, of course, doesn't happen often. My shock evaporates when I see that the mentor is Nath Rutsea; shock is replaced with caution. Fear. Which is strange, because we are supposed to trust our mentors with our lives.

I do not trust Nath. I wouldn't trust him with the dirt between under fingernails, much less my life. Or Quincy's life. But somehow, I have a feeling that Quincy has nothing to do with Nath's volunteering. My older brother seems to sense this too, and his arm tightens around my shoulder.

"Nice of you to join us," Finnick says. There is no sarcasm in his words but my eyes still narrow in suspicion. I never never trust anything (or anyone, for that matter) so pretty.

"Please," Finnick continues. "Have a seat."

Quincy and I oblige. As soon as the soup arrives, my appetite comes back with it. It's a orange broth with dots of brown that tastes like cinnamon and something else. Ophelia calls it pumpkin. There's a crisp green salad tossed in a tart red dressing. The main course is some kind of bird (dove, Ophelia informs me) that is glazed in a sweet crunchy shell. For desert, slices of creamy fudge with your choice of chocolate, vanilla, or caramel. I get one of each and immediately fall in love with the chocolate. I can't eat another, though. Every single bite I took threatens to make a reappearance.

We make small talk throughout dinner, but everyone, even Ophelia, is silent as we head into the living compartment to watch the recap of the reapings. I take careful notes in my head of each victor, sizing them up, looking for a weakness when they're at their most vulnerable. One and Two are huge, particularly the boy from Two. He's at least twice Quincy's size, and Quincy isn't exactly slight. Three doesn't make much of an impression on me. Then there's me and Quincy. The fact that we're related creates quite a bit of mayhem in the commentaries. Five and Six aren't anything special. The girl from Seven looks just as lethal as those from One and Two. Something tells me that she'll be part of the Career pack, even if she's not technically a Career. The boy from Eight draws my attention with his arrogant smirk, yet he doesn't seem to have anything to be arrogant about. Nine and Ten are average. Eleven and Twelve always haunt me, because their tributes are always so malnourished.

_So, the people I need to look out for,_ I think. _One and Two. The girl from Seven. The boy from Eight._ I also add both boys from Nine and Ten in my head as well, because they are both very powerful looking. The Capitol seal comes on the television, and it goes blank. There is silence in the room for a moment.

"I can't believe Arthor was drawn," Ophelia whispers.

"The boy from Five?" Quincy asks. "Why? Who is he?"

"He's the son of one of the past victors. Dead, now. Alcoholic," Finnick explains.

I add Arthor's name to my growing list.

"Is he dangerous?" Quincy inquires uncertainly. The boy from Five didn't look particularly dangerous; he seemed to be average.

Finnick laughs. "Do you even have to ask? His father knew five different ways to sever a spine."

"Oh" is all Quincy says.

"So, what about you two?" Finnick asks, suddenly sober. "What can you do?"

Quincy and I look at each other. "We work on a fishing boat," I say. Quincy nods in assent.

"Okay..."

"Um...Quincy's pretty handy with a spear..."

"And what about you, Annie?" Finnick asks, pinning my with those incredible eyes. It surprises me that he knows my name. And, as much as I hate to admit it, it sends a thrill through me too. I don't trust pretty, but that doesn't mean I'm impervious or oblivious to it.

"I...I don't know," I say. "I guess I'm okay with a knife. I'm good with traps. Nets and things."

"Well, I can tell you what you shouldn't do," Finnick says. "You shouldn't join the Careers. Normally Four tributes do this, myself included, but you guys...yeah, you definitely shouldn't."

Irritation flares inside me. "Why?"

"Because they would squash you like a bug," Finnick says. "Both of you."

"We weren't planning to join them anyway," Quincy interrupts before I can speak. "I want to die with some dignity."

"You're not dying," I growl.

"Right. I'll keep that in mind."

"See, this," Finnick says, gesturing between our scowling faces. "Isn't going to work. Maybe for the crowd, but you guys need to accept the fact that one or both or you isn't going to make it out of this alive. And you need to decide now, or I'm going to decide for you."

I just gape at him. What a horrible thing to suggest! To choose who's going to win. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Quincy beats me to the punch. "Annie. I want her to live."

"No!" I say. "Think about our parents. About Tally. What are they going to do if you..."

"You're my little sister! I'm not going to let you die!" Quincy says harshly. "And the others...I said good-bye to them already. "

"Yes, and you can say hello again when you go back to District Four," I yell, standing. As I walk out of the room, I tell Finnick, "Keep him alive, or District Four won't have a victor this year!" Then I stomp to my compartment and slam the door.

* * *

After an hour or so of me laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, there is a knock on the door.

"Go away!" I yell, closing my eyes against the pounding headache that throbs at my temples.

I hear a sigh on the other side. Then Finnick's voice. "I just came to let you know that we entered the Capitol. We'll be arriving at the train station in one hour."

"Okay," I say. I wait for him to go, but there are no receding footsteps. Only breathing.

"Annie, open the door," Finnick requests.

"No," I reply.

"I have something to tell you."

"It can wait."

"No, it can't," Finnick snarls. I've never heard Finnick snarl, not on national television, not in public, not even when he has spoken to me in person. He's always spoken in a seductive purr. Somehow, this portrayal of his real emotions is more attractive. I'm glad he is not in the room to see my blush.

After much consideration, I get up and unlock the door. I open it up, standing in the doorway, not inviting him in but not denying him access. I want to see what he does. Will he barge in? Will he just talk to me out here?

He does neither. Instead, he asks if he may enter. I nod and step back, letting him inside. But I leave the door open. Finnick walks to the bed and stops, turning to look at me. Again, I'm pinned by those green eyes. My mother has this saying, "Eyes are the windows to the soul". If this is true, than Finnick must have a beautiful soul. It's not only the color that astounds me, but the wisdom, the understanding beneath the surface. It's enticing. But I can't let it trap me. Instead of his eyes, I focus on his lips as he begins speaking. "I'm choosing your brother."

This pulls me up short. "What?"

"Every mentor must choose a victor to keep alive in the arena. The person who is most likely to make it home. The others and I agree that your brother is the one," Finnick explains. "I figured that with all four of us working together, then he'll have a decent shot at winning."

I try to say something, but I just nod. I'm grateful that they chose Quincy, but...every instinct I have is crying out. Now my death is certain. Not only certain, but it's confirmed. "Does he know?"

"Of course not," Finnick says. "He insisted that you be the one we choose. I told him that we would."

My eyes narrow. "How do I know you're lying to him and not me?"

"He's bigger, stronger, faster..." Finnick continues. He smirks before adding "smarter" to the list. I scowl, but say nothing. It's not completely untrue. Quincy did always get the better grades in school. I look at my feet, measuring the truth in his words. _Never trust pretty._

Suddenly Finnick is looming over me. His nearness makes me look up, once again meeting those eyes. They're mocking me now, flickering green flames. "Or maybe I am lying to you. Maybe I think you should win."

I blink and then scowl. I will not let him play games with me. I step closer to him, so we are chest-to-chest. I look right into his eyes. "Give me your word. That you'll protect him."

My boldness only seems to amuse him more. He bends down so we his face is inches from mine. "I swear on my life that I will protect your brother to the best of my ability while he's in the Hunger Games. But in return, Annie Cresta, you have to promise me something."

"What?" I ask.

"If he somehow manages to lose the Game, you have to try and win," Finnick says. He is so close that his breath stirs the hair in my face.

"Deal," I say, suddenly taking a step back and sticking out my hand. I don't feel comfortable with his closeness. It's not that I don't like it...in fact, I think I like it a little too much. And that just won't do.

Finnick blinks, as if coming out of a trance, and shakes my hand. He is back to his seductive self. Before I can take my hand back, Finnick grabs it and pulls me to him, wrapping an arm tight around my waist so our bodies are pressed together.

"Goodnight, Annie Cresta," he whispers against my cheek. He lets me go and walks out the door, shutting it behind him. I stare at the closed door, putting a hand on my cheek where his lips brushed my skin.

"Goodnight, Finnick Odair."

* * *

**Has anyone heard of Owl City? If you have, you probably know him from the song Fireflies. If you hate this song and are rolling your eyes as you read this, hold on for two seconds and read. He have better songs. How Fireflies got to be so popular and his other songs didn't, I honestly don't know. However, I quite like Owl City and his song, The Saltwater Room, is a great Finnick/Annie song. If you haven't listened to it, you definitely should. **

**So, let me repeat. **

**Look up The Saltwater Room by Owl City. If you haven't already. **

**It's a great Finnick/Annie song. **

**Just saying. **

**~ Smurf **


	3. The Capitol: The Opening Ceremonies

**Just finished reading Mockingjay! By far the best book in the series. Anyone agree? **

* * *

**T**he **C**apitol - **T**he **O**pening **C**eremonies

* * *

I awake to Quincy shaking my shoulder, telling me to get up. I wave him away. It's Sunday; a day off. We don't have to get up early to fish today. I roll over and pull the blanket over my head. I must have been cold last night; Mother gave me the big soft comforter from her bed. Quincy demands that I wake up, saying something about the Capitol...prep teams...opening ceremonies...

Oh. Right.

I sit up on my elbows, rubbing sleep from my eyes. I didn't get to sleep until a while after Finnick left...

Finnick. His very name sends red-hot anger coarsing through me. I had cursed myself for whispering those foolish words after he walked out the door. That is exactly what I said I was not going to do! And it wasn't going to happen again. I will show him that I am not so easily swayed. That I am not to be toyed with.

"What time is it?" I manage to slur. I'm only half awake really.

"Around four in the morning," Quincy says. I've only gotten one hour of sleep. Not even one hour. Quincy hoists me off the bed and half guides, half carries me to the bathroom so I can splash water on my face. The icy water clears my head and wakes me up considerably, though I'm still dead on my feet. I dress in brown pants and a white blouse, certain that it won't matter what I wear when I get to the prep team. Quincy is leading me out the door when I remember my token.

"Oh! Hang on!" I say, running to the bed-side table. Fortunately I had remembered to take it off before I'd gone to sleep. The sparkling silver chain just looks so fragile. I snap it on, cupping the pearl in my hand.

"That's your token?" Quincy asks.

"Yes. What's yours?"

He sticks out his hand, revealing our father's good luck charm around his wrist. It is the middle spoke of a golden trident, the end of it twisted so that you can stick the sharp end through it and wear it as a bracelet. "They had to file down the point to make it suitable as a token, but I ended up being able to keep it."

"Good," I say. I don't know what happens to rejected tokens, but I have a feeling that their owners don't ever see them again.

We walk down the compartment, not bothering with the table of food that sits along the wall of the room. I'm still full from earlier. I'm sure that they will have food where we're going. They always have food where we're going. It'd be a crime to deny it to us.

Even if we wanted to eat, I don't think we would have gotten the chance to. Ophelia is in a frenzy, her vibrant purple braids trailing behind her like several tails.

"Calm down," Nath tells her. "The stylists won't be awake before noon anyway."

"Oh yes they will!" Ophelia shrieks. "I was smart enough to contact them last night. The opening ceremonies are an important event, the first impression a tribute can make! First impressions are everything!" By now her voice is so shrill that I wouldn't be surprised if dolphins would be able to understand her.

"Calm," Mags says, patting Ophelia's shoulder. "We'll get to stylists quick."

Ophelia takes a deep breath, her bottom lip trembling in the slightest. "Okay, okay. I'll be calm. But we need to get going. Come along."

We all follow Ophelia without another word. She opens the door to the outside.

I gape at the world around me. It's like another planet. Colorful people are bustling about, arriving on trains, leaving on trains, waiting for trains. Cobblestone streets are surrounded by enormous buildings, even bigger than the Justice Building back home. And the buildings are just as colorful as the people. But perhaps the most brilliant things here are the lights. In District Four, we get maybe five to six hours of electricity a day, with the exception of "festivities" like the Hunger Games. But even when we do get electricity, our lights are dim and grimy and we only have one in each room. Here, there are lights everywhere. On the top of lamp posts, stuck on the buildings, even ropes of light wrapped around the trees that are evenly dispersed in the street. And every single light is like a little star, shining with quiet radiance. These must replace the actual stars, which are nowhere to be found in the sky.

When Finnick sees my puzzled expression, he leans down and whispers, "The lights are too bright. That's why you can't see them."

"I knew that," I snap, sparing him a scowl. It takes a lot of effort to keep that scowl in place, though. Finnick, smirking in the illumination of these Capitol lights, is as brilliant as the lights themselves. He seems to sense my admiration and a smile replaces his smirk. When I turn away, I have to remind myself to breathe.

Though I'd prefer to walk along the streets of the Capitol, Ophelia exclaims that it's much too far and points out the limousine waiting for us. I've never seen an actual car before, much less a limousine. The sleek black machine intrigues me greatly. I notice that Quincy is giving it the same curious glance. We get inside and I can't help running my hands over the creamy leather seats. But when the door closes and I am secured in a seat belt, I feel trapped. I try to look out the window, but they are too tinted to see anything outside. I begin to fidget. The others, even Quincy, seem perfectly fine. I decide that I hate vehicles and I want to be out of this one right now.

Thankfully, the ride only lasts about fifteen minutes. I practically leap from the car in my desperation for air. As soon as I'm out, I'm fine.

We are outside what seems to be a palace. Ophelia says it's not a palace, just a hotel for Hunger Games tributes. They have a new one every year, so people don't come barging in, demanding autographs or something. The security is top-of-the-line.

We go inside and are immediately directed to our bedrooms. Ophelia throws a fit, asking where our stylists are. The employee says nothing, just stares at us. Ophelia doesn't seem bothered by this as she normally would; she simply presses a button on her miniature telephone and begins screaming in the mouthpiece.

"Thank you," Nath says to the...servant? I'm not sure, but the term "employee" doesn't sound right. Anyway, the servant gives a respectful bow and leaves.

"Why didn't he talk?" I ask.

"He's an Avox," Nath replies matter-of-factly. "He can't talk."

"Why? What's an Avox?"

"An Avox is a criminal who is sentenced to serve the Capitol's needs," he explains. "Something is done to their tongues so they are unable to speak."

"Oh" is all I say. What can you say to that?

Nath doesn't seem to want the conversation to end. That, or he just likes the sound of his own voice. "'Oh' indeed. It's quite tragic, what happens to them. But they make good slaves."

Slaves? What a crude word. I recoil from Nath, disgusted by his lack of sympathy for these poor people. Just because they're criminals doesn't mean they should be subjected to this...the word 'torture' comes to mind, but it seems too tame. To my relief, Nath says nothing more.

"Well," Ophelia sighs, pressing another button on her phone. "They're on their way. I suppose you can get some rest before they arrive. It's going to be a big, big day!"

I nod and head to my room. Quincy stops me at the door. "Annie?"

"Yes?"

"I don't..." his gaze flickers to the ceiling. No one's mentioned it, but I'm sure we're being watched all day, every day. "...like them. Not a single one."

By "like" he means "trust". I think this over for a moment. "Mags seems okay. If I had to choose a mentor, it would be her."

"Yes, but you're not talking to Mags," Quincy says. I start, a bit confused at where this conversation is going. Is he worried about me talking to Nath and Finnick? I guess that's understandable, but to bring it up here is foolish.

"I'm fine, Quincy. I know what I'm doing," I retort.

"Do you?" Quincy pesters me.

"What are you implying?" I say coolly.

"I'm not _implying_ anything," he says just as icily. "I'm _telling_ you to stay away from them."

I narrow my eyes. "Goodnight, Quincy." I shove him aside and step into my room, shutting the door firmly behind me. He's saying that there's something going on between Nath and me or Finnick and me! What an absurd notion! Frankly, I don't trust either of them at this point, and I can barely say I trust Mags. It suddenly occurs to me that I don't even really know Mags. She just seems so simple-minded and innocent that it's hard not to immediately like her. But if she won the Hunger Games, she must be somewhat conniving. I make a mental note to get to know Mags better.

I am asleep before my head hits the pillow.

* * *

My prep team are complete imbeciles.

I determine this as they wax, pluck, lather, condition, polish, and rinse me raw. My prep team consists of three people: Claudia, a tiny woman with baby pink skin and shining auburn hair; Laverna, a tall, stick thin woman with blue skin that fades to white as it gets closer to her extremities and hair the same shade of blue that has streaks of white through it, giving her the allusion that she's made of water; and Balbus, a man with cat whiskers and flashing yellow eyes. I am afraid of them at first, until I hear Claudia, the most vocal of the bunch, shriek, "Oh look at her! The loveliest tribute we've had since Finnick himself!"

It's hard to be frightened of someone with a Capitol accent.

All three of them gush over my every feature, from my hair to my feet. But as they get deeper into work, they begin complaining about some things.

"What possessed you to give your gorgeous hair these hideous bangs?" Claudia scolds. "They do nothing for your face!"

"Your nails!" Laverna gasps. "You've chewed them to the nub!"

"Ugh, I wish Maya would let us do some surgery on you!" Balbus says, tilting my chin up. "That gap between your front teeth...well, at least your beautiful green eyes will take away from it. You District Four people always have the most amazing eyes!"

"Maya? That's my stylist?" I ask, ignoring their criticizing.

"Oh yes, Maya is fabulous. You're going to love him," Claudia quips as she plucks my eyebrows.

"Where is Maya, exactly?" I say, wincing.

"He's waiting for us to finish with you," Laverna answers, sticking fake nails on my fingers. "We're almost done."

As irritating as my prep team is, I must say they do a wonderful job. When they leave me to go get Maya, my skin is golden and glowing, my hair is shining and fluid, and my makeup is flawless. I wish they would have let me keep more of my hair though. I find myself running my hand over my calf as I wait.

The door opens, revealing someone even more surgically altered than Claudia, Laverna, and Balbus put together. He is rather short, only about 5 foot 4 inches, but his spiky green hair makes him seem at least five inches taller. His face as been pulled and puffed and pinched in so many different ways that he looks surprised, happy, sad, and angry all at the same time. His skin is black and white stripes. He wears clothes so tight and indecent that he might as well be naked. I am automatically disgusted by this Maya and I want nothing to do with him. He's the kind of stylist that dresses us District Four tributes in skimpy outfits consisting of nothing but fishnets and seashells.

"Take off your robe," he instructs. I have to, but I scowl as I do. I stand straight and tall as he circles around me, trying to seem defiant as possible. He nods approvingly. "Good. You can put it back on now."

I do. Maya turns to me. "Have you had anything to eat since you came here?"

"No," I say. He waves me over to a small sitting area and orders exotic fruit circled by sauces of every color and consistency. He takes a round blue fruit and cuts it into slices, revealing firm yellow insides. He hands me a slice.

"Dip it in the red jelly," he suggests. "It's delicious."

I oblige. The jelly is cherry flavored and the blue fruit tastes like peach. It's surprisingly delectable. We eat the fruit in silence. My initial opinion of Maya is improving slightly. When the empty platters are taken away, Maya gets right to work. The first thing he works on is my hair. I actually end up dozing off as his nimble fingers style it. He wakes me up when he is done and starts applying makeup. Then he begins stenciling designs on my arms. It looks like waves. He paints my new nails silver. Finally, he looks me over and smiles. "Now we can get you in your costume. Close your eyes."

I don't like closing my eyes fully exposed like this, but Maya hasn't done anything offensive to me; in fact, he's been a complete gentleman. I hesitantly comply to his request. I feel heavy weight placed on my shoulders. There are a few adjustments, some accessories, and then Maya turns me towards the mirror and tells me to look.

I don't know what he's done. I am in a dress made of heavy silver scales that hugs my curves and falls mid-thigh. Every time I move they flash. The sleeves are a mesh material, that I assume is supposed to be like fins. My arms, neck, and legs are stenciled with the wave pattern. I look like there's a storm writhing beneath my skin. The pattern crawls up my neck and onto half of my face. The other half is done up in silver makeup; silver lipstick, silver mascara, silver eyeshadow, silver everything. My hair is done in a messy up-do, with silver fishhooks and things. He's even made my bangs look good. The hairs that are constantly falling in my face are hanging just above my eyes. The longer parts at the end swoop in my face. There is fishnet, but it's only tights. Thank goodness, he didn't put me in heels. I am in what seem to be black combat boots.

"Wow," I say.

"You are very 'wow' indeed," Maya agrees. As the finishing touch, he hooks my mother's pearl around my neck.

"I look..."

"Like you've just risen out of the ocean," Maya says. "Twirl."

I do. The fish scales flash magnificently. Maya allows himself a small smile. "Brilliant."

"Thank you," I say. "You're amazing."

"You're most certainly welcome," he says. "Just don't mess it up by tripping or something. I almost strangled the last girl who did that."

I laugh, but I'm not entirely sure if he's joking.

Since I took the longest to make up, the others are waiting for me in the hall. Quincy is stenciled like me and dressed in a fish-scale suit with black accents. Ophelia is giddy with admiration, practically jumping up and down in her excitement. Mags gives us a toothless smile. Nath is nowhere to be found. But it is Finnick's reaction that I find the most entertaining.

"Well, at least we have decent stylists this year," he says. Is it just me, or is his voice a bit unsteady?

A carriage pulled by golden horses arrives at the door. Me, Quincy, Finnick, Mags, Maya, and Quincy's stylist, Aelia, climb in. I don't know how we all fit. But cool evening air circulates through the windows, so it's not as bad as the limousine ride.

We arrive to the opening ceremonies, parked right behind District Three's electric blue carriage.

"Smile and wave," Finnick tells us. "Be as charming as possible."

I nod, watching the District Three tributes emerge from their carriage. They are dressed in what seems to be balls of wire. Not the best costume, but they seem appeased enough. Perhaps they're just happy not to be naked like the District One tributes on stage, covered in shimmering white powder. Only shimmering white powder.

Out carriage pulls up to the red carpet. Maya gives us a thumbs-up before Finnick shoves us out of the carriage.

I immediately latch on to Quincy's arm. I don't think I can do this alone. I put on my most dazzling smile. I wave. I wink. I blow kisses. The crowd is going insane, chanting our name, reaching out to us. I don't touch them. I can't touch them, not without a grimace replacing my forced smile. We finally make it on stage. Slowly, slowly, the other tributes arrive. There are some who have amazing costumes, like us. There are others whose costumes are worse than District One's. But Quincy and I get the most attention. With every camera flash, our fish scales shine. There are a lot of pictures taken.

By the time the opening ceremonies are over, it is well after midnight and my legs are incredibly sore. Maybe my balance wasn't the only thing that possessed Maya to not force me into high heels. I mentally thank him a million times over.

The carriage is in the exact same place as when we arrived, but Finnick and Mags are the only ones inside.

"The stylists were tired after _such_ a _long_ day," Finnick says with flourish.

Quincy chuckles, but I don't like the fact that Finnick is mocking Maya. He did get up early, by Capitol standards at least, and he did a wonderful job, better than any of us dare hope for.

"Well, I think he deserves a good rest," I remark. Mags nods in agreement.

"You, too," she says. I am awfully tired, but it's nothing I can't handle. When we get to the hotel, I say goodnight to Quincy and head to my room, too tired for the conversation I know he wants to have. I let down my hair, sighing as the pressure is relieved from my scalp.

The next thing I know, someone is knocking me into the wall. Struggle blindly before opening my eyes to find Nath's face inches from mine. He is pinning me to the wall with his body, his hot hands traveling places that I don't like. But he has my arms pinned too. I'm a pinned butterfly, waiting for dissection. He breathes in my face, and I gag as the sour stench of alcohol and vomit rushes in my face. Nath is drunk. Very, very drunk.

But he is no less powerful. His wet mouth is on my face, desperately trying to find my lips. Soon Maya's beautiful ocean design is smeared with slobber. I struggle and squirm. I even try falling limp. But nothing works.

"Get off!" I yell. "Get off me!"

I get a drunken guffaw in return and his lips find mine.

There is the sound of flesh hitting flesh and Nath is gone. I fall forward, away from the wall, to see Nath nursing his jaw.

"Thank you, Q - " I begin, expecting to see my older brother. But it is not Quincy standing in front of me. It is Finnick.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Not yet," I say, zeroing in on Nath's whimpering form. I walk over and kick the body part that encouraged his assault on me. Nath doubles over in pain. "Now, I'm fine."

"I'll call the Capitol tomorrow," Finnick promises. "To come get him that is."

"Thanks," I say. As I wipe Nath's spit off my face, my hands begin to tremble.

Finnick looks at me with concern. "Annie? You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, I - I'm being stupid. I'm fine," I say, gripping my hands together and folding them in front of me.

"Do you need me to take you to your brother?"

"No!" I say. "If you do that, Nath won't be alive to see morning."

Nath is too preoccupied with his injuries to comment. Suddenly, he falls to the floor, unconscious. I begin to wonder how hard Finnick punched him.

"That is, if he doesn't die of alcohol poisoning first," Finnick remarks.

"Should we - ?"

"Oh, no. Someone will find him eventually," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "Come on, I'll walk you to your room."

"You really don't need to - "

Finnick puts his hand over my mouth. "You're shaking. I'm taking you to your room."

I nod, shocked by his kindness. He removes his hand from my mouth, only to grab my elbow and steer me away from the scene. I'm beginning to think that Finnick isn't such a bad guy. Maybe the rumors aren't true. Maybe he's not a total player. But then last night pops in my head, and I shove the thought away. Of course he's a player. If he wasn't, then that means that last night meant something. And last night could not mean something. I've only just let go of my family; I don't need to gain another person to care about. If I do, then Quincy can use that against me. He can use that to convince me to try and win, even if it means...

When Finnick tries to take my hand, I pull it out of his grasp.

We finally make it to my room. I give Finnick a small nod. "Thank you, again."

"For what?"

"Punching Nath before he crossed the line. Walking me to my room. Calling the Capitol in the morning," I say. "Take your pick."

"Well, I think I should be thanking you," Finnick says. He slowly walks towards me, backing me up against the wall. He doesn't pin me like Nath did, but he puts his hands on either side of my face, keeping his body an arms length away but leaning in so our faces are close. I'm not a pinned butterfly; I'm a caged bird.

I gulp. "For what?"

"For looking so magnificent tonight," he murmurs.

"Oh, you should thank my prep team for that," I say with a weak laugh. "They're the ones who did all the work. In fact, I actually caused them a bit of trouble, with the gap in my teeth and all." I accompany this statement with a grin.

I am awarded with a small smile in return. "Well, I find your smile absolutely endearing."

"Oh, thanks," I say with a shrug. "I try."

The small smile becomes a full-blown grin, which evolves into a laugh. A real laugh, not a flirtatious sigh. The kind of laugh you give when someone has just told a funny joke. I cock my head to the side, confused. "What?"

"You!" he snickers.

I scowl. "What about me?"

"You're..." he pauses, suddenly sober. "...different."

I roll my eyes. "What? Do you expect every single girl you meet to fall into your arms and let you whisk them away into the sunset?"

"Yes." He says this with such a serious face that it's my turn to laugh. "What? You don't like princes?"

"I don't believe in happily ever after," I say. "Especially when..." I stop and look at my feet. Of course I don't get a happily ever after. I'm going to die in a few days. Finnick isn't laughing anymore either. There is a long pause. Too long.

"Goodnight, Annie," he finally says. Before I can say anything in return, he swoops down and gives me a swift peck on the lips. I've kissed other boys before, but none of them have ever made me feel like I do now. And Finnick's kiss lasted no more than a second. In fact, he's walking down the hallway before I even blink. I don't know what is so special about the kiss, but I don't want this feeling to go away. I stand in the hallway well after Finnick's left. Only do I go in my room when I hear Nath arising from his drunken stupor. Then I dart into my room and lock the door behind me. I even wait until I see his stumbling shadow pass my door before I go to bed.

I actually manage to make it to bed before the tears come. For once, these tears are not for me. They are for Finnick.

Surely it's going to be hard for him to watch me die.

* * *

****Mockingjay Spoiler Alert (Only for this author's note though)** **

**Any guesses for what Finnick and Annie's baby's name is? It never says in the book. I'd love to hear your answers. Any ideas?**

**~Smurf **


	4. The Capitol: Training

**Blah, blah, blah; on with the story. **

* * *

**T**he **C**apitol - **T**raining

* * *

When I go down for breakfast the next morning, Nath isn't there. Neither is Finnick. I'm very relieved on both accounts. I need to set Finnick straight. It'll make it easier on him and on me if we just stop before things get to complicated. The kiss last night made me realize this. But that doesn't necessarily mean I want to have that particular conversation.

"Where's the other two?" Quincy asks as he sits down next to me.

"Finnick is escorting Nath to the train station," Ophelia sniffs. She turns to me. "I'm so sorry, dear. I can't believe he would do such a thing."

"Why? What did he do?" Quincy pesters me. I calmly relay the events of the previous night, carefully omitting the part with Finnick afterwards. I feel bad lying to Quincy (something that I don't do often) and I can tell he knows I'm leaving something out. But he doesn't say anything to me, perhaps thinking that I'll break and tell the whole truth eventually. Of course, I won't be doing this. For Finnick's safety.

"Training," says Mags after I'm done with my story.

"Oh, yes! Training! I nearly forgot," Ophelia squeals, hopping up. "We must go at once!"

As we walk down the hallway, I ask Mags, "What exactly are we supposed to do in training?"

Mags thinks for a moment. "Talents?"

"Not really," I answer.

"Learn knew things," she instructs. "Go to many stations. Observe people."

I nod. This must have been Mags's strategy in her Games. She doesn't seem particularly inclined towards any weapons to speak of, and besides that, she just seems too childlike to brutally take someone's life. She must have observed her competition and used that knowledge to stay alive and evade danger. She definitely isn't one to pick out as an immediate threat, so I'm sure the Careers forgot about her until there was a handful of players left. What she did then, I can't fathom. I decide to follow her advice.

When we walk into the training room, there is barely anyone there; just the other Careers. They look at us and mutter for several minutes. Quincy and I pretend not to notice.

"Do you think they're going to come over here?" I ask nervously. For some reason this does not appeal to me.

Quincy shrugs. "I don't know. If they do, we shouldn't bother with them. Just remember what Finnick said."

Something about the way he uttered that last part makes me glance up sharply, a scowl on my face. The instructor interrupts.

"Now that everyone is here," she begins. I hadn't noticed, but as we were talking everyone else had arrived. "We can start. My name is Ides, and I'm your instructor. You're free to use any equipment that you want. No combat of any kind with another tribute. There are trained professionals to help you if you need a partner. Make the most of this day, and have fun!"

As she is talking, I can't help thinking that most of the kids here are trained professionals. Without the makeup and costumes, these tributes look even more menacing. Most of them are twice my size, and at least half of them are twice Quincy's size. Keeping him alive is going to be harder than I'd originally estimated. It's going to be hard enough keeping myself alive long enough to ensure his victory. I shake my head to clear it.

Quincy and I travel about the stations, trying to hit as many as possible. We learn how to start fires. We learn how to throw spears, wield swords, shoot arrows. We learn how to camouflage ourselves. We briefly visit the knot-tying section, but it is such a bore that we move on quickly. Perhaps the most useful is the edible plant section. It surprises me how many plants are safe to eat. Dandelions. Who knew?

We run into a few Careers. They are friendly, but none of them make a move to invite us into their group. I carefully observe them when their backs are turned. As I expected, the girl from Seven was welcomed with open arms. Apparently she is quit handy with blades. Arthor is also invited after a bit of consideration. He's not great with weapons, but he's amazing in hand-to-hand combat and he can start a fire with just about anything. As I watch, I determine that the boy from One (Opal, I hear someone call him) is the leader. The Alpha-male. The one to be cautious around. I often see him looking in our direction, talking in hushed whispers to the girl from One and occasionally the boy from Two. They are still taking us in. Analyzing us, seeing if we're acceptable for their pack. Either way, Quincy and I are being noticed, which is not a good thing. The fact that they're still considering us means that they think we're good enough to be a threat; but if they ask us and we decline, there will be bitterness. Rejection. It's a lose/lose situation.

We go to eat lunch around noon. Most of the tributes have a table to themselves, with the exception of the Careers. Quincy and I sit down at the farthest table from them. Quincy is talking, but most of the words that come out of his mouth are jibberish to me. I'm focusing on Opal.

"...mountains at the Games this year," he says.

"What?"

"The man from the plant station. He said that most of the plants were found in high elevation. Mountains, right?"

"I guess so..." I mumble. Why didn't I think about that? Oh, right, I was watching the girl from Two skewer a mannequin. In fact, I've been so focused on our human opponents that I haven't once thought about the scenery of the Hunger Games. Or the kind of traps that the Gamemakers set up.

"Annie? You okay?" Quincy asks.

I scowl. "You're really going to ask me that?"

"Sorry," Quincy says awkwardly. "Look, if what Nath did frightened you..."

"Wait," I demand, holding up a hand. "Nath? I don't care about him. I'm worried about the Games."

"Oh...well..." his eyes suddenly narrow at something behind me. "Career Alert."

I turn. The girl from Seven is coming to our table with a sunny grin on her face. She slides in the seat beside me with a comfortable ease, setting her tray firmly next to mine. "Hello," she said cheerfully. "I'm Zona."

I decided to play nice...for the time being. "Annie."

Quincy introduces himself, following my lead.

"You guys were fan-tast-ic at the opening ceremonies," she continues.

I smile. "So were you. The paper bird, right?"

"Yes. My costume was okay, but nothing compared to yours. I _have_ to meet your stylist."

This talk is obviously boring Quincy, even if he knows it's all an act. It's boring me too. The difference is, he doesn't have anything to contribute to the conversation. He leaves to go get something to drink. After he's left, Zona leans in. "Sooo...how's Finnick?"

I'm taken back by this, my suspicion immedately flaring up. How does she know about the kiss? But then she continues, and I realize that it's just more girl talk. She doesn't know anything.

"You are so lucky, you know. He's practically drool-worthy. Not to mention filthy rich." She makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh, twirling a lock of sleek black hair around her slender finger.

"Yeah, well," I mumble. This is way outside my comfort zone. Zona seems to sense this, and quickly changes the conversation topic as Quincy arrives.

"So, do you want to come sit at our table? We've got two extra spots."

I give her my most winning smile. "No, thanks. I think we'll just stay here."

"You sure?" Zona asks. "What about you, Quincy?"

"No, I'll stay here with Annie. Thanks for the offer though."

And that's it. I can see it on her face. The rejection. Careers don't like being told no.

"Okay," she says, suddenly stiff and cold. "I'll see you around then."

I nod. Zona retreats back to her table, giving Opal the news. The other Careers don't even bother to hide their resentment. Opal meets my gaze, and I stare him down. His eyes are a cold icy blue, like diamonds. We both know what this means.

Quincy and I are targets.

* * *

**Short chapter...I'll make up for it. :) **


	5. The Capitol: Scores

**I LOVE ALL THOSE WHO REVIEW! You guys deserve cookies. Real cookies, not virtual cookies. So go treat yourselves. :D **

* * *

**T**he **C**apitol - **S**cores

* * *

We train for the rest of the day, until Ophelia comes to pick us up for dinner. Finnick is there, but we don't speak to each other unless it is conversational chatter. Quincy tells about the Careers and after that, all small talk ceases. The weight of our impending doom is suffocating. Not for the first time, I wish the Capitol had a beach. When I go to bed, I don't stay long. I begin pacing, but I don't need to burn energy. I've spent all day doing just that. No, what I need is space. And there is no space here.

I open the door and sneak into the hallway. I travel along the corridors of the building, avoiding places I already know too well. The building is a lot bigger than I'd originally thought. There are corridors lined with doors and doors. I don't open them, for fear of what I might find. I do stop at a big metal door that obviously leads to somewhere outside. Yes, this is just what I need.

I open it. The cool night breeze hits my face, but I still don't relax. It doesn't have that salty tang I'm craving. But it's better than being cooped up inside, so I venture further, not quite shutting the door behind me in case it's the kind that locks automatically when it closes. I find myself in a rooftop courtyard. Leafy hedges form a maze with cobblestone paths intercepting the grassy ground. I find it odd that there is grass so high up, but then I remember that this is the Capitol. Everything here is odd.

In the center of the maze is a giant round fountain, the size of a large pond. It is at least ten feet tall with seven teirs spurting crystal-clear water. The sound is strangely soothing to me. This is probably the closest I will come to being on the ocean ever again. I sit on the edge of the fountain, watching the water lilies bob along the surface of the pool. I notice there is a mosaic forming the Capitol's seal in the bottom of the fountain. I trace circles in the water, distorting the glittering image.

I don't know how long I sit there, relishing the night air and the gentle lapping water. I know that when I hear the footsteps, I've hiked up my night gown to my thighs and I am walking in the knee-deep water.

"Annie? What are you doing?"

"I needed to get out, Quincy. I was suffocating."

My brother sits on the edge of the pond and watches me. Finally, he says, "I've lived longer than you."

"So?"

"So, you deserve the chance to live as long as I have at least."

"Quincy, you're a year and a half older than me," I say. "That's not a big difference."

"I'm still older than you. I'm supposed to be protecting you, not the other way around!"

I drag my feet across the bottom of the fountain, the smooth round glass reminding me of seashells. "Who says?"

"It's...that's not fair, Annie!"

"It's not fair that you expect me to let you die. I can't live with that, Quincy. You'd be doing me a favor by winning." I let my night gown fall in the water. The liquid creeps up the edges, turning the pale pink into a darker hue.

"And you expect me to do the same? Go on living, wondering if I could've saved you, wondering if I'd done something different you'd be here?" Quincy whispers harshly. "I'd go insane!"

"No, you'd make it. You're stronger than me," I murmur. "You'd be strong for Tally. For Mother and Father."

"You're stronger than you're giving yourself credit for," Quincy says.

I give him a challenging smile. "We'll see."

"Annie!" Quincy says, exasperated. "This isn't a game! One of us is going to die in a few days!"

"Isn't life just one big game?" I say. "In the Hunger Games, death means you lose. But what is death in life? Is it victory, or failure?"

"Annie, you're going to drive yourself crazy thinking like that," Quincy remarks.

"I think I'm already a bit crazy," I laugh. The soft flesh of my foot meets the jagged edge of a piece of glass. Red blood blossoms in the water. I stare at it, my brow furrowing. Blood is still pumping into the water, but I'm doing nothing about it.

"Annie?" says Quincy, concerned. He peers across the fountain to see what I'm staring at. "Annie! What are you doing?"

"I don't know," I admit. It's true. I don't know what I'm doing. Something is wrong, and it's not my foot. What's wrong with me?

"Annie? Annie!" Quincy leaps into the water as I collapse. I feel his arms encase me in a safe cocoon before the world goes black.

* * *

When I wake up, I can't see anything. I panic, a thousand scenarios racing through my head. As I focus, I see the dim shapes of objects. I recognize the furniture of the room in the Capitol. I feel my way to a window, which is covered by a thick black curtain. I pull the curtain back, blinking as blinding sunlight streams into the room. It's late morning, almost noon by the looks of it. Why have I been allowed to sleep for so long? Shouldn't Ophelia be pounding on my door?

I quickly dress in a pair of black pants and a dark blue shirt. I hiss as I stick my foot my boots. There is gauze wrapped around it, slightly soiled. I peel it off, revealing an angry gash in the bottom of my foot. I find a fresh roll of gauze conveniently placed next to my boots and quickly bandage my injury. Then I leave to find my team.

They are huddled around the table, eating lunch. Quincy and I are supposed to be training, preparing for the private session we get with the Gamemakers. Perhaps we're planning strategy, and that's why Ophelia let me sleep in? I don't know. I am starving, however, so I load my plate with food before sitting down. As I shovel food into my mouth, I notice that everyone is staring at me. "What?"

"Are you...feeling okay?" Quincy asks.

"Yes, except for the big cut on my foot. What happened?"

"You cut your foot on the bottom of the fountain."

"Yes, I remember that. But after?" I insist.

"You fainted and I dragged you out of the pond," Quincy says.

"And was I okay?"

"Yes," says Finnick. "The doctor said that it was just exhaustion and to let you sleep it off. You over-worked yourself."

"Oh," I say. "I guess that makes sense. I feel fine now."

"Good," Ophelia says. "We've got to get you caught up. Today is the private session with the Gamemakers, so you must get at least an hour of training - "

"Ophelia," Finnick interrupts. "I think Mags and I can handle this, thanks."

"But the schedule - "

"Is unimportant at this point. We don't have time for them to train. Besides, we wouldn't want to wear them out right?"

"Right..." Ophelia says uncertainly.

"Sponsors," Mags suggests.

"Yes, why don't you go look for potential sponsors while we discuss the private sessions," Finnick says.

"We haven't even gotten the scores yet!" Ophelia objects.

"We can't be too hasty," Quincy says. "We need as many sponsors as possible. You know what they say: 'The early bird gets the worm'."

"Right...well, okay." Ophelia skitters out of the room.

Finnick sighs and leans back in his chair, assessing us. "So...what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Quincy says, shrugging. "Maybe chuck some weights around. Throw some spears."

Finnick nods. "What about you, Annie?"

"I have no idea," I admit.

"What do you do on your father's boat?"

"I haul in fish. Gut them. Things like that."

"You gut the fish...you must be pretty handy with a blade then, right?" Finnick suggests.

I shrug. In reality, it makes perfect sense. Things I handle every day I should know inside and out. I'm not sure if I'm any good fighting with a knife, but I'm nimble enough with one to gut and skin a fish in less than two minutes. Mags takes her knife and hands it to me. "Show us."

I take it. What should I do? Throw it? I suppose so. I throw it at the wall. It hits the soft wood with a good tick, but it's not buried deep enough to stay. After a moment of consideration, it drops to the ground. Very unimpressive.

"Well," Finnick sighs. "I guess...you'll just have to wing it."

"Wing it?" I say.

"Yes. Don't worry, you'll know what to do when you get up there."

"And if I don't?"

Finnick stares me down. "Do anything you can to show them that you can survive. That's what they'll be looking for."

* * *

There is a long line of chairs in the waiting room, side by side. Twenty-four chairs, to be exact. Quincy sits in the seventh chair to the right. I sit in the eighth.

We are waiting.

All twenty-four of us. To perform for the Gamemakers, so they can judge us. Pick out the best of the best and the worst of the worst. To distinguish between the hunters and the hunted; the predators and the prey; the shooters and the targets.

Despite what Finnick claims, I don't know what I'm going to do. I have no plan at all.

A man calls Opal into the room.

As the boy from District One, he always goes first. He sits in the first seat, next to his district partner. Her name is Crystal. I am wedged between Quincy and the boy from District Five. Arthor, if I recall correctly. The Career. The victor's son. The boy who knows seven ways to break my spine.

He doesn't look deadly. Curly brown hair, big ears, a dimpled face. He's the kind of boy who is well over nine years of age, but hasn't quite outgrown his gawky appearance. He still possesses the Career's bitter hatred towards me though. I can see it in his hazel eyes. Rejection. A child who gets everything he desires and more. Spoiled rotten.

The man calls Crystal to the room.

Quincy is sitting next to the girl from District Three. He is talking to her. Only Quincy would make conversation with a girl that would have to die in two days. He introduces me to her. Her name is Evee. She is small with short dark hair and wide, intelligent eyes that take in every detail in an area. She is fidgety and nervous.

The man calls Jax, the boy from District Two, to the room.

Evee is clever and innovative and resourceful. This much is obvious. This makes her a threat, maybe even as dangerous as the Careers. But perhaps what makes her more frightening is that I like her. I'm enjoying the conversation we are having. If she lived in District Four, we would be friends. We would study the tide pools. Evee would like the tide pools, I think.

The man calls Penelope, the girl from District Two, to the room.

I withdraw from my conversation with Evee and Quincy. We are the only ones talking. Everyone else is staring straight ahead, as if it is only them in this empty room. Idly, I wonder why. They must be smart enough to know that they can learn something about the competition from talking to one another. Then I realize it's because they might become friends with the competition. They would have to kill a friend to live.

The man calls Gregor, the boy from Three, to the room.

Evee falls silent. Is she actually worried about her district partner? Or is she just nervous about her turn? I stare straight ahead with the rest of the group. Quincy and Evee do the same.

The man calls Evee to the room.

She gives us a quick nod before departing. I decide to sever my connection with Evee. I can't kill her now. I hope someone else does before we meet each other in the Game. Preferably not a Career. Not someone who would make her suffer. Let her die with the little bit of dignity she deserves.

The man calls Quincy to the room.

He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before he leaves. Then I am alone. Alone with sixteen people. How is that possible? I don't know. Arthor is still at my side. Still and cold as a rock. It reminds me of Quincy's hand at the reaping. Was Arthor warm like sunshine, too? Or was he always this cold?

Each tick of the clock is echoes off the walls. How long has it been? One hour? Two? How long has Quincy been in there? What is he doing? Do I want him to get a high score, or a low one? If it's high, we'll get more sponsors. But we'll also get attention from the Careers. I guess we're already targets, so it doesn't really matter if we get a low score or not. High score it is.

The man calls Annie to the room.

It's like the reaping day, so long ago. I'm watching myself get off the seat. Each step feels like there's a block of concrete glued to my feet. My breathing pitches and I feel like I'm suffocating. What's going on? What am I doing? _Wing it, _Finnick says. _Wing it, wing it, wing it, wing it..._

_Show them that you know how to survive._

It's like a rubber band snapping into place. Everything becomes concise. Focused. Like a distorted image that has suddenly made clear. The blurred colors of a prism folding themselves into defined lines. A fog lifted from my mind. _Show them what you can do, Annie._

I walk in the room with a new confidence. The answer is so obvious now. Why didn't I see it before? It was there, waiting for me to unearth it from my memories. Now all I have to do is show them. Show them what I am.

The Gamemakers have a buffet in front of them. They aren't incoherent with alcohol yet, but they're already starting to look a bit unstable. Still, their attention is on me. I am here, and I will show them who I am.

I start by postioning the mannequin. It's human shaped. My father didn't teach me how to do this with humans. This makes me pause. Human shaped. I'll be doing this to human beings. For Quincy. I shake my head to clear it. Yes, for Quincy. To get him home.

I grab the harpoon. Most fisherman use harpoon guns, but my father couldn't afford one. No, we used rope and our own strength. Most people think that a spear and a harpoon are one in the same.

They aren't.

I throw the harpoon. It's not about force. It's about precision. Accuracy. The size of your muscles doesn't matter. It's the smooth flow of motion as it leaves your fingertips. The harpoon enters the canvas of the dummy and there is a ripping sound as it exits the other side. Right in the chest. I can feel by the change of attitude that I got the Gamemakers full attention now.

I pull the rope connected to the harpoon, forcing my opponent towards me. It's the kind of mannequin with wheels, so it charges. I kick it where it's head would be, and it tips over. I remove my weapon and send it sailing into a sandbag. Sand erupts from the bag. I tug, but the hook of the harpoon has snagged onto the rope of the sandbag. No matter. I can use this to my advantage. I pull until the rope gives. Now I have a trophy. I hold up the empty sandbag to the Gamemakers. That's it. I'm done. No more.

"You are dismissed, Miss Cresta," the head Gamemaker says. I give a respectful bow before leaving, dropping the sandbag and the harpoon at my feet.

Quincy meets me outside the door. "Annie! How did you do?"

"Good I think. You?"

"Okay. I don't think I impressed them."

We say no more about it. The private sessions are supposed to be confidential, but that's just because Gamemakers are afraid it would give competitors an unfair advantage. Quincy isn't my enemy. He already knows everything about me. Still, I won't say anything unless Finnick or Mags brings it up at dinner.

Finnick does bring it up, over a bowl of red soup with tiny black seeds.

"So, how was the session?"

I motion for Quincy to begin, too involved in my soup for talking.

"Good. I threw some weights around," Quincy says.

I place my spoon in my empty bowl. "You were right, Finnick. I knew what I was going to do when I walked in."

"What was it?" Quincy inquires.

"Do you remember that time we went whale hunting with Father?"

"Harpoons?" Finnick interrupts. "That's what you showed them?"

"Yes," I say. "When Quincy and I went whale hunting with our father once, I was a natural with harpoons. It was a long time ago though, and I only went with him once. I didn't even notice they had harpoons here until I walked into the private session."

Finnick frowns. "If you're good with a harpoon, you might have gotten a decent score, but...it's unlikely that they'll have a harpoon in the arena."

"Whatever," I say, shrugging. "I don't need a harpoon to live."

"I'm sure you don't," Finnick says, a hint of a smile forming on his lips.

After dinner, we head to the living quarters to get the scores. The Careers manage an eight to ten range. I'm surprised to see that Evee gets a seven. Impressive, for someone who doesn't know how to handle weapons. Or does she?

Quincy gets a solid seven. I get a nine.

Most others average a four to seven range. Zona and Arthor both get tens. The boy from Twelve gets a three. The Capitol seal flickers on the screen and it goes black.

"Good job!" Ophelia squeals, making us all jump. She gives Quincy and me a hug. "You both did phenomenally!"

"You did do very well," Finnick agrees.

"Yes," Mags nods.

"I did average," Quincy says modestly. He hugs me. "Annie is the one who did amazing."

From Quincy's embrace, I share a look with Finnick. Despite what Quincy is obviously thinking, this doesn't change anything. I know it, he knows it. He won't back down from our deal...right?

When I lay down for bed that night, I'm suddenly not so sure.

* * *

**Harpoon...that's not your average weapon, now is it? For those of you who don't know, a harpoon is that thing used to kill Moby Dick. I'm not sure if you can actually use a harpoon without a harpoon gun, but under all pretenses, let's just say you can. I'm fairly certain that you can, but you never know. I'm not a weapons expert or anything. **

**~Smurf **


	6. The Capitol: Counting Down

**UGH! This chapter would have been out sooner, but (after I had written half the chapter in one sit without saving it, of course) my cat decided to leap onto the keyboard and delete at least an hour and half worth of well-written, thoughtful work! So I had to give you this instead. **

**...Just kidding. I re-wrote it to the best of my ability, and I actually think it turned out better than the first draft. **

* * *

**T**he **C**apitol - **C**ounting **D**own

* * *

It's somewhat comforting to know that today will be easy. Quincy and I could both use a break from all this chaos. I mean really, how hard can preparing for an interview be? You get all dressed up, Caesar Flickerman asks you some questions, you answer them as best you can for three minutes, and you're done.

According to our mentors, however, this is not the case. It takes a lot of work to prepare for an interview, not to mention the interview itself. Over breakfast they decide that Quincy and I will each get an allotted amount of time with Ophelia to practice general etiquette and then some time with Finnick and Mags for strategy. When asked if we want to train separately or together, Quincy and I both automatically choose the latter. Finnick doesn't think this is a good idea.

"Why?" Quincy asks.

"Because you'll get distracted. Don't roll your eyes," Finnick snaps at me. "It's true. I say one negative thing about one of you and the other is ready to start a fight. It's pointless and a waste of time. And we all know how little of that we have left. You're not preparing for the interview together."

I don't like being told what to do, Quincy doesn't either, but Finnick's testimony makes sense. I reluctantly agree after encouragement from Mags.

We draw straws to see who has to go with Ophelia first, since neither of us necessarily want to practice etiquette with her for two hours straight. Quincy ends up being the one to endure the torture first. She drags him down a hallway, leaving me alone with the two other mentors. We sit. We stare. They are assessing me; I am assessing them. I feel that this is only fair. Even after five days, I haven't really taken in all there is to take in.

Mags is older than she originally appears. Although her face has deteriorated with age, you can tell she was once beautiful. She still is, really. It reminds me of Tally, who I've seen in boys' clothes and ratty hair and I still thought that she was one of the prettiest girls on the planet. Mags has long, thick hair that is in a silver braid. She is slightly hunched and a tad wiry, but she has still managed to maintain good health for one of her age. I can see why she has trouble talking; she barely has any teeth left. That doesn't stop her from smiling. I admire this.

Finnick is a different story entirely. People have not exaggerated his handsomeness. As I watch him, I notice things. His shining bronze hair, his flawless golden muscles, his devilishly angelic face; all amazing, all captivating, all a lie. Finnick is a liar, and a damn good one. Beneath this shallow mask of arrogance, there is something deeper. The only indication of this are his eyes. His glorious, his magnificent eyes. They eyes that the Capitol citizens dream about. But the wonder of Finnick's eyes go beyond the color, which, I do have to say, is pretty spectacular. No, what makes his eyes truly incredible is not only the intelligence and the understanding I noticed earlier, but the compassion, the pain, the sorrow that swim beneath the surface. There are sharks in that ocean.

He leans back in his chair, which I've noticed is a sign that he's getting ready to speak. I patiently wait for him, my face portraying nothing.

"What are we going to do with you?" he murmurs, more to himself than to me.

"I don't know," I admit. "I can't do sexy. I'm not funny. I might be able to reach innocent, but with my score even that would be a stretch."

"Modest?" Mags suggests.

"No," Finnick says. "They want to know about you, and being humble isn't going to accomplish that."

They stare at me some more. I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, bored. I see how long I can keep my eyes open compared to Finnick. He seems to sense my challenge and smiles, just a little bit.

"Honesty," he says suddenly, making me blink.

"What?"

"Honesty," he repeats. "That's your angle. You haven't said one lie since I've met you."

"How do you know? I could just be a good liar," I say, although this is not true. I'm a terrible liar.

"Trust me, Annie. I know when someone's lying," Finnick says. "And you are definitely not a liar. You are one of the truest people I've ever encountered."

My brow furrows in thought. "Are you sure? What if I'm too blunt for the audience? What if I offend them?"

"That's just it; you always find some way to be honest and polite at the same time. Even when you are forthright, you never make it insulting," says Finnick. "We can use that to our advantage. The audience will admire you because you are what they can never be: real. That is something they can never accomplish."

Honest. True. Real. I'm getting all kinds of flattery today. Is he just toying with me? Or does he mean it? He's suggesting it as a strategy, so he believe it on some degree. I'm surprised to hear such loathing in his voice towards the Capitol. He should be more lenient towards them. After all, he has used half the women in the Capitol for money. They practically fund his every whim. I cock my head to the side. _What are you hiding, Finnick Odair?_

He seems to sense my inquiry and falls silent, waiting for an answer to his idea. I think about it for a moment. Then I nod. We spend the next hour drilling me with questions, things I shouldn't say, things I should say, things I should just avoid entirely. Because even honest people need to stretch the truth to earn the Capitol's favor. As we're practicing, I think about what Finnick said. _You haven't said one lie since I've met you._I think about the past five days, to find that the only lie I've told is when I snapped at Finnick after he explained about the missing stars.

After our two hours is up, Finnick takes me to Ophelia. We walk down the hall in silence. When Finnick opens his mouth to say something, Ophelia and Quincy come marching down the hall.

"Finally!" Ophelia exclaims, flicking her magenta braids out of her face. She shoves Quincy forward. "Take him! He has been nothing but difficult!"

Quincy crosses his arms and scowls at her. I can't imagine what their session might have been like. Quincy has never been one for manners, whereas Ophelia is made of manners. Ophelia grabs my arm and tows me down the hall. I look back to see my brother storming down the hallway with Finnick at his side. Finnick is looking back too. He catches my eye and winks before taking a right turn and disappearing from view. I scowl after him.

My two hours with Ophelia are torture. She immediately puts me in a pair of ridiculous high heels. We practice walking, talking, smiling, gestures, table manners (though I highly doubt we'll be eating at the interview; I think this is more for her sake than for mine), and the apparently extremely annoying habit I have of pushing my bangs out of my eyes. We spend at least half an hour reviewing better ways to relocate the hair around my face. When we are finally called down for dinner, I have to agree with Quincy. That woman is insane.

Dinner is rather tense, since Ophelia, Quincy, and I are so peeved. Mags and Finnick try to get a conversation going, but Mags isn't really the best talker. Eventually we are sitting at the table in silence, munching on our salads. Finnick does eventually say something that gets Quincy's attention by mentioning Tally's name.

"What?" Quincy says sharply.

"Oh, I was just saying that girl, the merchant's daughter...Tally, I think her name is. She's very pretty, don't you think Mags?"

Mags nods.

"I don't think I've introduced myself to her properly," Finnick says thoughtfully. "Perhaps I'll do that when we get home."

I roll my eyes. If Finnick thinks he can provoke a reaction out of Quincy this way, he is sadly mistaken. My brother is not very vocal when it comes to his emotion. It takes years to decipher is feelings. I see now, by the way he is crossing his arms and glumly picking at his salad, that he is jealous. And why shouldn't he be? Like I said, Finnick is a damn good liar.

"You better be careful, Finnick," I warn, knowing Quincy will not say anything. "Tally is Quincy's girl."

"Really?" Finnick inquires.

Quincy shrugs. "I guess."

"Well, you are a lucky man," Finnick says. I smile at my salad. Quincy mutters a gruff "I know" before digging into his food.

"What about you, Annie?" Finnick continues. "Do you have anyone special?"

"No," I say.

"Come on, there has to be someone," he says.

"There isn't," I persist. "Honestly."

"Okay..." Finnick says in a way that suggests he doesn't believe me at all.

I roll my eyes playfully. Dinner is a bit more relaxed now. Ophelia and Quincy are even making an effort to be civil. It's actually...enjoyable. This is mainly due to Finnick, who is hilarious when he wants to be. After I mention how much I love the food at the Capitol, he raves for at least an hour about how delicious the dessert, some kind of frozen fruit sorbet, is. I think I laugh for the first time since the Games started. Really, really laughed.

After dinner, we retire to our rooms. Like last night, I toss and turn for at least an hour before deciding I can't sleep. I roam the hallways again, searching for some access to the outdoors. The fountain comes to mind, but I don't want to go there after what happened last night. I sneak into some kind of storage room to find that it has a balcony.

The night breeze is lovely on my skin. The balcony is abundant with plants, whose leaves whisper in the wind. I noticed that the storage room was devoid of dust too. Perhaps they have someone to come clean everything and water the plants. I lean on the cool stone railing of the balcony, taking a deep breath. The city street below is bustling with life and lights, even this late at night. The height makes me scared at first, but I learn to enjoy it. I feel like I'm flying and the wind reminds me of sailing.

"It's very pretty, isn't it?"

I wheel around, fist leading the way. Finnick skillfully dodges my blow, looking mildly surprised. My hands fly to my mouth.

"I'm so sorry!" I gasp. "I didn't mean to - it was a reflex! I swear!"

"Annie, don't worry about it," he laughs. "No blood, no foul."

"What are you doing up here anyway?" I ask, a tad harshly. I'm still getting over my shock.

"Where you expecting solitude?"

I look around. "I wasn't exactly expecting anyone to find me."

"Do you want me to leave?" Finnick suggests, turning to go.

"No," I say, too quickly. "I mean, you can if you want, but you don't have to."

"You really are too honest," he chuckles, leaning against the railing. "I think you just impulsively say whatever's on your mind."

I scowl, moderately annoyed. "I would rather be too honest than a big fat liar."

"I'm assuming by 'big fat liar' you mean me," Finnick says.

"Obviously," I say. "Don't even try to tell me otherwise. We both know it's true."

"You're right," he agrees.

"What?" I say.

"I am a liar. I lie every day; to the Capitol, to District Four, even to Mags. But don't you even think that I've ever once lied to you."

"You've only known me for five days," I point out. "Besides, how do I know you're not lying now?"

He gives me an exasperated look. "Really, Annie? You just totally ruined my romantic thunder."

"Sorry," I say.

"It's true. I've never lied to you, even though it's only been five days," Finnick says.

"So does that mean that you'll keep to your promise? That you'll try and get Quincy home?"

"If that's what you want," Finnick says. "I'll do whatever you want."

"You've only known me for five days," I repeat.

"Yes, and you've only known me for five days. You can't tell me that this" - he grabs my hand, frigid from the wind, and warms it between his own - "doesn't feel good to you."

It does, and not because his hands are warm.

"So I digress," he continues. He makes no other moves, but he keeps my hand. We sit in silence but for the wind rustling the leaves of the foliage. Eventually my eyes begin to droop. Finnick scoops me up and carries me to my room. He lays me on the bed and brushes hair from my forehead. "Goodnight, Annie."

"G'night, Finnick," I yawn.

With one gentle peck on my forehead, he disappears from the room.

* * *

**Okay, I tried NOT to make this chapter super cheesy, but I'm not sure I did a good job. This is actually a second try (well, a third try if you count the dilemma with Maxie), because after I read the first draft I gagged. It sounded like an excerpt from a crappy soap opera. I absolutely had to re-write it, as my wonderful readers deserve better than that. Hope you enjoyed it. **

**~Smurf **


	7. The Capitol: Interviews

**Almost to the arena! Are you as excited as I am? **

* * *

**T**he **C**apitol - **I**nterviews

* * *

I wake up to my prep team hovering over me.

As you can imagine, I'm more than a little baffled. Who wouldn't be? I like my prep team, I really do, but they are thoroughly bizarre and not exactly the most welcome thing to wake up to. They don't seem to mind my reaction. They begin chatting non-stop right off the bat.

"Oh, dear! We seemed to have startled her! Sorry darling, but Maya said we must get you ready!" Claudia squeaks.

"For the interview? Can't it wait until after breakfast?" I say, rubbing sleep from my eye.

"You haven't had breakfast?" Balbus shrieks. I don't bother point out that I'm still asleep so, no, I haven't had breakfast. They whisk me to the kitchen where we all load our plates with food. I don't have any trouble initiating conversation. Apparently my prep team wants to cover every single detail of their past few days. I nod at right times, and occasionally gasp or mutter some kind of agreement, but other than that I don't have to talk.

After we eat, they take me back up stairs to get me ready. I ask what Maya has planned for me this time, but they say they aren't sure. Their only instructions were to make me look naturally beautiful, which they call Beauty Base Zero. I wonder how you can look naturally beautiful with makeup, but decide not to question it. They are a lot simpler than last time though, washing and conditioning my hair but leaving it down, stripping me of my silver nail polish in favor of a more natural clear coat, highlighting my face with soft pink powders. When they are done, it is my natural looks, just improved. I'm assuming that Maya is playing with my whole "honest" strategy by making me look like untouched perfection.

Maya comes in and we eat lunch. His quiet is a relief after my prep team's constant babble. He straightens my hair and does it in a simple up-do twist, which works well with my bangs. He touches up my makeup, rounding my features and giving me a soft appearance.

"Time for your dress," he says. He turns me away from the mirror and puts me in a gown that he doesn't let me see. As a finishing touch, he puts me in my accessories and applies something on my cheeks, shoulders, and back with a makeup brush. "Okay, now you can look."

I turn towards the mirror and gasp. He has put me in a backless silk gown that swirls around my feet. It's a strange color, like the surface of a pearl. The silk drapes over my shoulders and folds around my bare back. My earrings are little pearls to match my token. My shoes are a sparkly gold, to match the gold dust that Maya has sprinkled across my face and shoulders. I'm subtle and radiant. I'm glowing.

"You've done it again," I say, twirling for him. "This is great."

"I'm glad you like it. The heels aren't too high?"

"They're at least three inches shorter than the ones Ophelia put me in," I remark. Although this is true, I'm still looking down at him. I extend my arms for a hug and I have to bend slightly to give him one. When I pull away, he is covered in the gold dust. Everything I touch turns to gold.

"I feel like there is something missing..." he mutters, looking me over. "I can't put my finger on it."

"Well, I think you did fantastically. Thank you," I say.

He smiles. "Go blow them away."

"I will."

He escorts me back to the others. Quincy is striking in a blue suit with silver accents. Finnick and Mags give us and our stylists praise, and then we leave for the iinterviews. As we are walking out the front doors, Finnick picks a lily from the garden and tucks it behind my ear. "Perfect."

I return his smile. Quincy notices this exchange and claims my hand for the rest of the night.

The stadium for the interviews is huge. The stage is huge. Everything is just...big. Capitol citizens cheer and whistle. Quincy and I wave and smile endearingly. We take our places behind the Evee and Gregor. After a few minutes, we walk onto stage and take our seats. Caesar Flickerman walks on stage. I have to squint to look at him under the spotlight. Apparently his color this year is florescent yellow. He warms up the crowd with a few jokes, and then Crystal is called up. She is fierce in a black dress with brown leather accents, her pale blond hair slick back from her sharp face. Her angle is obvious. Bloodthirsty. Vicious. I don't expect it to be a crowd pleaser, but the citizens are chanting her name when the buzzer sounds. Opal gets a similar reaction, but his strategy is a tad more civilized than his fellow tribute.

I have huge knots in my stomach by the time Evee is called up. She seems to be going for clever and witty, but her outfit is a flop; a lime green dress with black stripes across it. Gregor's interview leaves much to be desired, as he is quiet and shy through the whole thing. This makes me sad. District Three will not be getting a lot of sponsors. Oh, well.

When Gregor's buzzer sounds, I brace myself before I stand. I shake Caesar's hand politely before we begin.

"So Annie," Caesar begins. "How are you liking the Capitol so far?"

"I think it's amazing," I say. And it's true, I do. "Everything about it is beautiful."

"What's your favorite thing about it, hmm?" Caesar inquires.

"Besides the food?" I say. This gets a knowing chuckle from the audience. "Probably the city itself. The lights and the streets...it's all so unbelievable."

"Well, I'm glad your stay has been so wonderful. Are you prepared for the Hunger Games?"

"No," I say. Honest.

"I'm sure this must be particularly difficult for you," Caesar replies sympathetically. "Your brother being your competition."

"My brother is not my competition, Caesar," I correct. "I am going to do everything possible to get him home."

There is a hush in the crowd. A tribute trying to keep another tribute alive? Unheard of.

"Really? What a noble thing to do," Caesar says. "I must say, I admire you greatly. You must care a lot for him."

"I do," I say, looking at my feet. "He's one of the most important people in my life. I'm going to do whatever I can to keep him alive. He has someone waiting for him, you know. Tally Silvus. She loves him very much, and I promised her I would bring him back. I never break my promises."

"I believe it," Caesar says. The buzzer goes off and the crowd goes wild. I take my seat.

Quincy and Caesar make some small talk. My brother's angle is obviously...me. From the very beginning of the interview, he always steers the conversation back to me. How he wants me to win. How he'll always think of me as his baby sister. Even when Caesar brings up Tally, Quincy somehow centers it around the promise I made to her.

"You seem to care very much for your sister. I feel sorry for any chap who's got his eyes on her," Caesar says. This gets a laugh out of the audience.

"Oh, almost every boy has his eye on her. Not that she notices," Quincy says, shooting me a wink. "We've trained her too well."

I roll my eyes. This gets a great reaction from the audience. Our brother-sister banter takes control of the rest of the interview, and by the time the buzzer goes off the audience is choking on laughter.

The other tributes step up, one by one, for their three minutes. Arthor's interview is surprisingly gentle. Apparently he has a baby sister, Miranda, who he takes care of. He doesn't fail to point out that, if he doesn't win, she will have no one but their blind, slightly batty grandmother. He is trying to get the crowd's sympathy...and it's working.

Zona is playing the sexy angle. This is evident before she even starts talking. Her dress is a fitted scarlet number with a plummeting neckline. Her hair and makeup is slightly disarranged and suggestive. Blurred red lipstick, tousled black hair. When her interview does begin, she speaks in a low tone that makes me embarrased to hear.

There are a few more that stick in my head. The boy from Eight is snarky and sarcastic. The girl from Ten is funny. The girl from Eleven is shy and quiet. I don't know what the boy from Twelve's strategy is supposed to be, but he comes off as loud and annoying. I register that this is the same boy who got a three in the private session.

The final buzzer goes off, and the crowd roars. Some of them are chanting for Opal or Crystal. Others are screaming for Penelope or Jax. There is also a good portion hooting for Zona or Arthor. A lot of the crowd is actually cheering for Quincy and me though. I have a feeling that we are going to be the final eight. Which is bad because, besides Quincy and me, the others are Careers. We are going to be the first targets, unless someone quits the Career pack.

We all stand and give a bow before exiting the stage. In the confusion and crowding, Quincy gets shoved and knocked into me. He bares his teeth at the girl from Five, but she raises her hands defensively. "Wasn't me."

Quincy's glower turns to Arthor, who quirks an eyebrow.

Suddenly Finnick appears out of nowhere and grabs Quincy's arm. He jerks him out of line and tows him away. I follow. When I reach them, Finnick is chewing Quincy out.

" - stupid that was!" he says. "That guy's an instigator! He wanted at fight, because he knows he can win it. It'll impair you in the arena."

Quincy crosses his arms and glares at Finnick. "I wasn't going to do anything. I'm not that dumb. I know that if I get hurt, the less chance Annie has of winning."

"Just stay away from him," Finnick warns, looking in Arthor's direction. "There's something about him...I don't like it."

Quincy and I nod, and he takes us away.

"How did you two do?" he asks as he opens the door outside.

"Good, I think," I reply. "The crowd really loved the whole brother-sister drama."

"I thought they would," Finnick says.

"Wait, didn't you watch the interviews?" Quincy inquires.

"No, I was waiting for you to come out with the other mentors. We'll watch them tonight, when they're televised."

We make it to the car. The first thing I do is kick off my heels (even though they are much shorter than Ophelia's, my feet are still killing me from yesterday) and then I set to work on my hair, combing out the multiple pins used to keep it up. I carefully set the lily in my lap so it doesn't get massacred. When I'm done I have a small pile of pins next to the flower.

Ophelia is excited to see us and watch the interviews. Quincy and I grab something quick to eat and then we sit and watch. Since Quincy and I have already seen all of the interviews, it's boring to us. But Ophelia is going nuts over everything. When I step up, she squeals in delight. My interview holds no substance until the portion about Quincy. Quincy's interview is even better. Ophelia is actually sobbing when it's over. If that wasn't bad enough, she has to leave the room when it's Arthor's turn. The story of his little sister and batty old grandmother is enough to make even me feel for him.

When the televised interviews are finally done, Mags turns off the television. The five of us stand in the living quarters awkwardly for a moment.

"Well," Quincy says. "I guess this is goodbye."

Ophelia bursts into tears again and hugs him fiercely.

Mags gives me a warm hug and a toothless grin. I'm surprised at how hard this hits me. Mags has burrowed into my heart with out me knowing.

"Glad to be your mentor," she says.

Ophelia hugs me also, but I end up comforting her rather than the other way around. This irks me considerably, but I don't say anything.

Last is Finnick. I know this will be the hardest, but I don't expect the sudden rush of emotion that surges through me. I will never see him again, not if Quincy is to come home. The thought brings a lump to my throat. There is a sharp sting in my eyes. _Are you really going to cry, Annie? _I think of Finnick's kiss, of his promise to keep Quincy alive, of the flower in my hair. So few memories, affecting me so greatly. Am I really going to cry?

Before I can say anything, Finnick takes my face in his hands and kisses me, right in front of everyone. The world seems to melt around us, enclosing us in a bubble of momentary bliss. I am only aware of his lips against mine, of his warm hands on either side of my face. I don't know how long we stand here like this; time doesn't exist. There is no such thing as the Hunger Games. Death is not slowly closing in on me. What is death, again?

I do know that when Finnick pulls away, tears are slipping down my cheeks. Yes, I am really going to cry.

"I had to do that one more time," he says, brushing my tears away with his thumbs. "Am I really that horrible of a kisser?"

Despite my better judgement, I laugh. "Really, Finnick? You ruined your own romantic thunder this time."

"Yes, I suppose I did," he says. "It was worth it, to see you laugh."

He kisses my nose and steps back. The world falls back into place. Every pair of eyes in on me.

And I don't care.

Quincy and I watch our mentors go. They will be gathering sponsors as soon as they walk out. Quincy and I stand in the living quarters silently. I'm expecting him to interrogate me and scold me about Finnick, but he says nothing except,"We should go to bed."

"You're not going to chew me out about Finnick?" I inquire. Normally I would leave this alone, but this is so out of the ordinary for Quincy that I have to ask.

"No, I'm not."

"Why? You think he uses women all the time. He probably does," I say.

"Annie," Quincy begins, raising an eyebrow at me. "You are not some silly teenage girl desperately wishing for love. If you thought Finnick was using you, you wouldn't have just let that happen. You would have set him straight the first time he tried to make a move on you. Besides that, I saw the way he looked at you. He's not manipulating you, this I know for a fact."

I attempt a smile, but I don't think I succeed. "So now what?"

"Now we try to catch some sleep before tomorrow. We'll need it," Quincy says. I nod and we go to our adjacent rooms. Before he closes his door, he looks me squarely in the eye. "Annie?"

"Yes?"

"May the odds be _ever_ in your favor," he tells me. He closes the door, leaving me alone in the hallway. I scowl at the ground. Quincy's challenge has not gone without acknowledgement. We'll see who's going to get out of this alive.

Like I said, I don't break my promises.

* * *

**The ending was very tricky to write, and might be confusing for some of you. By "promises" she's referring to the promise she made to Tammy, that she was going to get Quincy home. I hope you liked this chapter, and stay tuned for the arena in the next one! :3 **

**~Smurf**


	8. The Arena: Day One

**Day one of the Hunger Games! **

* * *

**T**he **A**rena - **D**ay **O**ne

* * *

Maya holds my hand was we stand in front of the metal plate that will lead me to my death.

The morning has been tear-jerkingly slow, much to my chagrin. Can't I just hurry up and get this over with? The broiling knots in my stomach are becoming painful. I don't see Finnick or Mags or even Ophelia. Just Maya and Quincy. Though I encourage him, Quincy doesn't eat anything at breakfast. He is looking so green, I'm not certain that it wouldn't have just come right back up. This is a minor set back, and I know we will be paying for it later when hunger begins to set in.

I look down at my clothes. These are obviously not the flashy fish scales or the pearly powders that Maya favors. It's a dark grey shirt with fitted black pants and supple leather boots. Maya inspects the material for me and gives he is professional input.

"Fairly durable, but not too terribly so. The shirt is flexible, easy to tear," he says. "Don't expect it to get too cold. They won't do that unless they want to see someone freeze to death."

I nod, fingering the pearl around my throat. I turn and give him a hug. "Thank you so much, Maya."

"Blow them away," he whispers before releasing me.

"Not all of them," I say. "Not all of them."

I step onto the metal plate and sit still as the clear case closes me in. I give Maya one last wave before rising up.

When the case comes off, the first thing I notice is the cool breeze. For one exciting moment I think it's the ocean, but when I open my eyes that is not what I see. I'm not that lucky.

We are on the top of a mountain. In front of me on a circular plateau is the Cornucopia, gleaming in the sunlight. There is about ten meters of flat ground before the incline takes a sudden drop to my right. To my left there is also an incline, but it's not as steep as the one to my right and has the added bonus of scruffy forest that I see gets thicker. This is where most of the non-Careers will go.

But behind me is where the breeze is coming from. I turn to see a massive lake, stretching for several miles. It is so large, in fact, that I can't even see the other side. The water is clear enough, but I can still see muck at the bottom. I know it is not an ocean because the earth under the plate is clay, and there is no salty brine to the breeze. Still, this lake is a huge advantage for me and...

Quincy! Where is Quincy?

I frantically look for him and find that he is three plates to my right. Between us is Evee, Opal, and the girl from District Six. I nod towards the Cornucopia. He nods too, and we both crouch into running positions. The gong should be going off any second.

The gong sounds. I dart off my plate, heading straight for the loaf of bread I had my eye on. I grab it, then the canteen to my right. I dodge a kick from the District Six girl and retaliate by swinging the canteen and hitting her in the head. Quincy grabs my hand and pulls me to the incline. I'm confused. Shouldn't we be heading towards the forest? But my instincts tell me to trust him, so we bolt towards the drop.

I hear it before I see it. I tackle Quincy and watch the arrow whiz over our heads. So the Careers have gotten their hands on weapons already.

We get up and continue running towards the incline. When we get to the edge I discover that it's as steep as I'd originally expected, but it is made of shards of black rock that make good handholds. I follow Quincy over the side without hesitation.

We scoot down the mountain at a fast pace an hour or two. The boulders are steadily getting bigger and farther away, leaving trails of smooth dirt every couple of meters. The incline is lessening too. I can even hear a little stream in the distance.

"Quincy, you are a genius," I say. "How did you know?"

"I didn't," he shrugs. "I figured it would be safer than the woods, since that's everyone's first impulse. Besides, with it being so steep and that huge lake at the top, there's bound to be water."

"Yeah, I wonder how they got that lake up there," I wonder.

"What do you mean?"

"Like you said, water naturally flows downhill. That giant lake is at the very top of the mountain. It's a bit odd, don't you think?"

Quincy ponders this for a moment. "Maybe there's a dam."

"Maybe...that would have to be a pretty big dam," I say. I turn to look uphill. I tilt my head to the side in thought. "Something's off about this mountain. Aren't they supposed to be tall and triangular?"

"I guess so," Quincy says. "I've never seen one."

I picture what I've seen of the arena in my head. There's the incline, and the plateau with the Cornucopia, the forest to the left, then the lake behind. I remember vaguely seeing the other side of the lake...

"It's shaped like a bowl," Quincy exclaims suddenly.

"Huh?"

"The arena, it's shaped like a bowl. Sort of. There's the lake in the center, and the inclines all around it with the exception of the flat area supporting the Cornucopia. It's like a bowl with the sides going out instead of in."

"It is," I agree. "But how does that help us?"

"We have a basic picture of the arena now. It might be easier to travel from place to place. If the Careers are so focused on the plateau and the woods, then they won't notice it. At least not for a while," he adds as an afterthought.

"I wonder what's on the other side of the lake," I say.

Quincy smiles. "Only one way to find out."

We hunt down the stream and rest for a while. I managed to keep the loaf of bread and the canteen; Quincy got two knives and nylon rope. As we are sorting through our haul, we hear the first cannon shot. I count on my fingers the number of deaths today.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

I wait for another boom, but there isn't one. Eight of the competition gone already. I should be pleased that there isn't as many people to work around, to kill, but the air around my brother and me is sullen. How can eight lives be taken in the course of two hours?

Another cannon sounds.

Nine lives.

Quincy takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Okay. The Careers will be sorting through the Cornucopia and getting ready to hunt tonight. My best guess is that they'll search in the forest first, but we can't be too careful. Let's put as much distance as we can away from them."

We begin walking again, staying close to the stream. The water is cool on our legs, and soon our shoes have come off.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Right now, we have three options," Quincy says. "One is to stay hidden and wander around. This is a good plan until the Careers pick off more players. Then we'll have to change our strategy."

"Okay. Next?"

"The second option is to see what's on the other side of the lake. This could give us an advantage later on, but it'll be time consuming," Quincy continues. He glances at me to make sure I'm on track.

"And the third option?"

"To scout around the Cornucopia and see if there's anything we can do to cripple them," he says solemnly. "The down side to that one is obvious."

Yes, the negative point for that one is excruciatingly obvious. There is a very, very good chance the Careers could detect us snooping around their campsite. That is one option that I don't want to try just yet. But hiding around and waiting for other tributes to die just seems...wrong. The point of the Game is mainly to survive, this much is true, but I need some kind of purpose to keep me going. Besides, Quincy is right; seeing what's on the other side of the lake could give us a huge advantage later on, especially considering our rare ability to swim.

I realize that Quincy is waiting for me to speak. He may be informing me of the options, but he's letting me make the decisions. Perhaps to give me the false illusion that I am in power. If I think I'm in charge, I'll be easier to manipulate.

"What do you think we should do?" I say.

He ponders this. "I think the second option is our best bet."

"Me too."

"Okay," Quincy announces. "To the other side of the lake!"

As we walk, I begin to notice the direction of the sun. By the looks of it, it's around five o'clock in the evening. We are going west. I hear Quincy's stomach growl. My stomach is also experiencing some discomfort, but with only one loaf of bread to eat we aren't going to dine quite yet. I do notice little silver fish swimming around in the stream, though. Quincy tries to spear some with his knife unsuccessfully.

The stream begins to curve to the south. We walk among it's banks for as long as we can, but soon it comes to our attention that we are getting off track. We put on our socks and shoes and straighten our course. The trek is gradually heading uphill, I notice. Quincy and I don't miss the stream for long. After a while of walking, several tinier trickles of water skip through the rocks.

"We must be beside the lake," Quincy states, looking north even though the steep incline cuts out our view of the lake's glittering waters.

"Must be," I agree.

The sun dips into the horizon. It's not the blazing sunset of District Four, but it is the prettiest thing I've seen in the arena so far. I commit it to memory, just in case. Quincy and I walk until the angry grumbles of our stomachs become painful. We find a good place to camp and eat a daring four slices of bread, two for each. This depletes our food by a quarter. Tomorrow I will search for plants to gather and maybe try to spear a small animal. Not that we've seen any small animals. We have seen plenty of reptiles though. At this point, I'd eat snake meat.

We settle on a flat rock obscured by three tall boulders. Just as the stars are popping into view, the Capitol seal springs onto the sky.

The first face to come is District Three's boy, Gregor. So no one from One or Two. The next face is the girl from District Five. Evee and Arthor are alive. Both the boy and the girl from District Six. The girl from Eight. The boy from Nine. The girl from Eleven. Both from Twelve.

And that's it. The seal comes back, and then the night is quiet.

"Fifteen left," Quincy says. "Opal and Crystal. Jax and Penelope. Evee. Us. Arthor. Zona and her district partner. The boy from Eight. The girl from Nine. Both from Ten. And Kur."

"Kur?" I ask.

"The boy from Eleven," Quincy explains. "I talked to him that day at lunch when Zona came to talk to us."

"What's he like?"

"Big and strong. Pretty quiet. He didn't say much. He seemed...simple, but sturdy."

"Ah," I say. "We know plenty about the Careers, but we don't really know anything about the others."

"We don't really need to," Quincy says. "They're probably not going to be much of a threat. If they were, then the Careers would have tried to talk to them by now."

"What if they hid their abilities?"

"Why would they do that?" Quincy says somewhat irritably. "Annie, you're over thinking things. Just go to sleep. I'll take first watch."

I open my mouth to object, but he covers it with his hand. "No arguing. I promise to wake you up when it's your watch, okay?"

I stare him down, and hesitantly nod. He lets his hand drop and I curl up on the cold rock. This is a time to think, to let my emotions show. No camera will be interested in us now, not when the Careers are on the move. Nine deaths in one day. Nine children who will never return to their families, their friends. I glance sadly at Quincy's shadow.

Let the 70th Hunger Games begin.

* * *

**Not too exciting really, but cut me some slack. It's only the first day. There's nothing to really make exciting. **

**~Smurf**


	9. The Arena: Day Two

**Alright, here we go! Day number two! **

* * *

**T**he **A**rena - **D**ay **T**wo

* * *

Quincy wakes me up around sunrise. He can barely keep his eyes open. When he lays down, he falls into a deep sleep. I'm certain that he let me sleep way longer than I was supposed to. Once he's conscious again I'll lecture him.

As I watch the sun bloom over the rocky horizon, my mind wanders in different directions. Are we on screen? Did the Careers kill anyone while I was asleep? Is Finnick watching? Are Mother and Father okay? I sigh and rest my chin on my fist. Thinking about the people I left behind is not doing me any good. I need to put them out of my mind.

Which is easier said than done.

I make little designs in the dirt with the tip of my knife. Keeping watch is dreadfully boring...though I suppose this is a good thing. Rather boring than dangerous. I stand and jog in place. I need to pay attention to my surroundings. Watch for anything suspicious. I run my fingers through my hair. Practice throwing my knife. Pick the tiny dandelions sprouting between the rock. Anything to keep me alert and focused on the present.

An arrow zooming past my head does the trick.

Whoever shot it is obviously not experienced, it missed by several feet, but I whirl around and wield my knife in the direction of the shot. I see the boy from District Eleven, Kur, holding a knife to Quincy's throat.

"Don't move," he whispers. Quincy is still sound asleep on the slab of rock. "Or your brother dies."

I freeze. I can't risk Quincy's life.

"Drop your knife," Kur orders. I hesitate. "Do it now, flower-girl!"

I slow set the knife on the ground along with the dandelions.

"Kick it away," Kur demands. I do. It falls off the rock with a metallic click.

Suddenly, Quincy leaps onto Kur with a feral growl. Kur is too shocked to keep hold of his knife, but he does manage to recover long enough to beat Quincy with the bow. My brother takes the bow from his hand and snaps it in two. Kur takes this opportunity to tackle Quincy. I dive for my knife and turn to see Kur pinning Quincy to the grown with an arrow poised on the tip of his throat.

"You put up a good fight, District Four," he says solemnly. "But it is over."

While Kur is talking, I am inching over to him. I'm certain he doesn't see me; his attention is on Quincy. As he raises the arrow to impale Quincy, I wrap my arm around his thick neck and stick my knife under his chin. "Put the arrow down."

He smirks. "It seems as if we are in trouble, flower-girl. I don't think you have the authority to be calling the shots just yet."

"Do you not feel the blade under your chin?" I dig the tip deeper into his flesh, causing thick blood to dribble down his neck.

"Do you not see the arrow over your brother's head?" Kur mocks me. I grip the blade in my hand, expecting him to try to bring the arrow down on Quincy's head. Instead, he snaps his head back. I feel a colossal pain in my face, and then I am on the ground.

"Annie!" Quincy shouts.

Kur darts past me and leaps over the rocks lithly. Quincy runs to my side. "Annie! Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I groan, pulling myself off the ground. Quincy grimaces and wipes blood from my face. White-hot pain shoots up my nose.

"I think he might have broken your nose," Quincy says, taking his sleeve and gently rubbing blood off of me. His sleeve is soon soaked with the stuff. "I need to set it for you. Here."

Before I can do anything, he takes my nose in both hands and does something awful to it. I push him away from me, covering my throbbing face with my hands. Trying not to cry, I take my sleeve and tenderly rub away the remains of the blood. Quincy gets off the ground and helps me. This isn't the first time I've broken my nose. There was once when I was five Quincy whacked me in the face with a fishing pole, then again when I was twelve I got in a fight at school. Still, the amount of pain is still the same. Kur has a hard head.

"Do we need to go after him?" I ask as we gather our stuff.

Quincy looks at the place where Kur fled. "No, we'll just continue with the plan."

The sun is well into the sky by the time we leave. I gather all of the dandelions and stick them in the canteen, since we have plenty of water at our feet right now. We each eat one slice of bread. As we walk, I also find wild onions and a berry bush. We end up not using the berries though, because we aren't sure what kind they are. After a bit of scavenging, Quincy manages to nail a fat lizard. We decide to wait to cook it at dusk, to mask the smoke from a fire.

My nose and eyes begin to swell shut. I'm having trouble seeing the rocks, and Quincy has to stop every five minutes to help me. Besides that, I'm panting so loud that any tribute would be able to hear us from a mile away. I can only breathe through my mouth and we've been walking uphill for a while.

After about two or three hours of this, Quincy sighs and pulls up short. "Annie, this isn't going to work."

"Whaddo you meaned?" I ask.

"Your nose. We need to wait until the swelling goes down. In this condition you're easy prey," he says.

"Not trued!" I object.

"It is true," Quincy argues.

"Whaddo you propose weed do?" I say.

"Let's just camp here until tomorrow. We'll collect herbs and stuff; replenish our resources. That way your swelling can go down and we'll have plenty of food," Quincy suggests.

"Whad abou Kur?"

"We can handle him this time," Quincy says ruefully. "Don't worry, Annie, I'll protect you."

"Tha's essaly whad I worry abou," I mutter.

Quincy ignores this and we walk for a couple more minutes until we find a suitable cave. We hunt around the cave for food. I find chives and more wild onions, as well as another mysterious berry bush. I'm very tempted to pick these berries. The bush is ripe with them. They are glistening red. I squish one between two rocks. The inside is clear. As suspicious as they look, their aroma is mouthwatering. Like cherries.

I am on the brink of popping a couple in my mouth when Quincy shows up with a brown rabbit. It's throat is bloodied to the point of grotesqueness, but the prospect of meat makes my stomach growl.

We go back to the cave around dusk. Then comes the hard part; how are we supposed to start a fire? The most vegetation we've seen are the little berry bushes and some other underbrush. It's not nearly enough. We are staring stupidly at the flat ground of the cave when the thunder sounds. Only, it's not thunder exactly. I've heard plenty of thunder in my life, and this rumbling sound isn't the same.

Suddenly, the ground begins to shake under us.

Quincy grabs my hand and pulls me away from the cave just as it collapses. Pebbles are pelting us as if thrown by some invisible force. There is grating sound above us and he pushes me to the ground beside a huge boulder. He dives beside me. Rock is surrounding us on all sides, suffocating us with it's earthy particles. I can't hear the thunder anymore. I can't hear anything. But the ground is still shaking, harder than before. The vibration is making my bones shake is seems. My nose is on fire from the chattering of my teeth.

I don't know how long this horrible earthquake lasts. When it is over, I am covered in dirt from head to toe, my nose and mouth are bleeding, and my head is throbbing, but other than that I am unscathed. Thanks to Quincy's quick thinking.

I look over at my brother. He is in the same state as me, with the exception of a bloody nose. We struggle to stand under the pounds of rock that cover us, but we eventually succeed. Unfortunately our campsite did not fare as well as we did. Everything is submerged under the rocks. We scavenge around and I manage to find the canteen and one of the knives. Quincy had the rope looped around his belt when the quake started.

A canteen. A knife. A rope. This is all we have left.

A cannon goes off. Then another. Two more people dead. I wonder if it was the earthquake or the Careers who killed these tributes. Speaking of the Careers...

"Quincy, it's almost nighttime," I say, pointing at the sinking sun. "We need to get moving."

"Right," he sighs. We walk for a couple miles. The landscape has been altered into nonrecognition by the earthquake. There is little cover among the trampled boulders, but eventually Quincy and I discover a cave half sealed with dirt. We dig an opening and settle in for the night. When the anthem begins, Quincy sticks his head out of the opening.

"The boy from District Seven and the boy from Ten," he announces, scooting back inside the cave.

"Do you think they were a team?" I ask.

"They could have been. It doesn't matter," Quincy says.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Thirteen left."

"I'll take first watch," he says after a moment of silence.

"No, I'll take first watch," I say. "You took first watch yesterday."

"Annie, your nose - "

"Is almost healed. The swelling is going down. I can see just fine," I argue. "Lay down."

Quincy doesn't fight. This earthquake has shaken us, not only physically but emotionally too. I just hope that it doesn't effect us too much. I hope their isn't another one.

But my hopes have been ignored quite frequently these past few weeks.

* * *

**Sorry, short chapter. DX **

**~Smurf **


	10. The Arena: Day Three

**Hmmm...I think I need to spice up the Games a little...**

* * *

**T**he **A**rena - **D**ay **T**hree

* * *

My stomach is twisted and gnarled, it seems. Every move I make sends a shock of dull pain through my abdomen. It takes little to tire me out, and I haven't relieved myself since yesterday. As we walk west, Quincy and I eat anything that we know won't kill us. Dandelions, blueberries, chives. But it's not enough.

"Stop," I say, leaning against a rock and clutching my torso. "I need to stop."

"Me too," Quincy breathes, sitting on the ground. "We need to eat something."

"Agreed. But what? Even if we catch something, we can't build a fire to cook it. The only other edible things here are wildflowers, and that's obviously not working!" I snap.

"Don't yell at me!" Quincy growls. "This isn't _my_ fault!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not the idiot who went and broke her nose and caused us delay! If we hadn't wasted yesterday we'd probably be on the other side of the lake by now!"

"The only reason I broke my nose was because you were too weak to take down Kur!" I scream.

"If you hadn't been fooling around and picking flowers like some little girl he wouldn't have snuck up on us in the first place!" Quincy retorts.

A cannon interrupts our argument.

"Who do you think that was?" I blurt out.

"It doesn't matter. We'll find out tonight," Quincy replies harshly.

A feeling of hopelessness courses through me. Tears fill my eyes. "What's the point? I hate this stupid game. I want to go home."

"Yes, blubber like a baby! That will help!" Quincy exclaims.

"Why do you have to be such a jerk?" I shout back at him. Rage has replaced my vulnerability again.

"I'm not a jerk, I'm being honest," he says coldly.

"Fine! If I'm so useless, then why don't we just end it here!" I yell, pushing myself off the rock and turning back the way we came.

"Fine! You have fun in this wasteland, and I'll be enjoying a nice swim in the lake!" Quincy calls after me.

I walk for several minutes before I double over in pain. A sorrowful numbness has settled through me. I could do anything now. I don't have any responsiblities. _What's the point?_

I notice I'm leaning over a bush of the mysterious berries. My stomach goes ballistic, and I pluck a handful from the bush. I stare at the little fruit. It stains my hand red. No, that's blood. The bush had thorns on it.

I tip my head back and empty the fruit into my mouth.

Rolling them between my teeth, I pop the hard peel one by one. An explosion of flavor coats my tongue. Sweet at first, but with a tart aftertaste. They are delicious. I set myself to picking the rest of the berries from the bush and dumping them in my mouth. By the time I've stripped the bush, my arms and hands are covered in little scrapes and cuts, but my stomach is so wonderfully full. _See, I don't need Quincy,_ I think.

Quincy.

Quincy!

QUINCY!

What have I done? Where is my brother? I hop off the ground and look around in vain. What is going on? Why did I split up with him? The out of place feelings of rage and sorrow tease the back of my mind. Of course! It was a trick of the Game. The Gamemakers somehow controlled our emotions. The thought makes me shudder.

I jog up the mountian, suddenly energetic and awake. I feel as if I've just woken up from a long sleep. Nothing hurts, not even my nose. I've sprinted and climbed a good mile before I even break a sweat.

After about an hour of searching, I finally find my brother. He is stumbling up a hill, almost ready to pass out. I jog and catch up to him. "Quincy!"

"What do you want?" he sneers. I recoil, hurt by this unfamiliar venom in his voice. I'd figured that the traps the Gamemakers set wore off over time or were condensed in one location. But I'm untainted, and I'm in the same place as Quincy. My emotions are wholly mine. Why are his so off-kilter? What's different?

The answer comes to me when I see a bush. The berries! They must be the antidote for whatever the Gamemakers did. I locate a berry bush and pick enough to fill my canteen, plus another handful. I don't know how many Quincy will need to become his old self again.

"I'm not eating those," he spits when I come back. "You're probably trying to poison me."

"Quincy, I would never ever do that," I say. "Please, just eat them. You'll feel better."

"I don't believe you."

"Here, I'll eat some!" I say, thoroughly panicked. What if his emotions stay like this? What if the berries aren't the answer? Quincy watches me with the up most suspicion as I take a portion of the berries and dump them in my mouth. He says nothing until I chew and swallow. "See? They're harmless."

He stares at them for a long time. I know I've won. No starving person can resist this. He finally takes the berries and pours them in his mouth. I hand him the canteen and follow him from a distance for a while. The truth is, this angry Quincy scares me.

"Annie!" he says suddenly, wheeling around.

I turn around as a reflex, expecting Kur to be there with an arrow to my head. There is no one. Then I realize that the berries must have taken affect. I sigh in relief. My brother is cured.

He runs to me and envelopes me in a hug. I'm surprised when he lifts me off the ground and spins around. Wasn't he just ready to keel over and die? How is he so strong now?

Of course. The berries. Our salvation.

"I'm so sorry," he says, stroking my hair. "I didn't mean anything that I said, I swear. It must have been - "

"A trap, I know. I'm sorry too," I say, hugging him again.

Then I see it. The tiny silver parachute gently gliding to the ground behind my brother.

"Quincy!" I say, pointing. We run over to our gift and inspect it, confused. It's a little glass vile, with an amber colored liquid inside. I open it and sniff it, quickly revolted. It's musky, kind of like urine. Urine...

"Ew," I say, wrinkling my nose and pulling it away from my face. "I think I know what this is."

"What?" Quincy asks, taking it from my hand and turning it around.

"Animal urine," I explain.

"Why would we need animal urine...?"

"To attract animals," I say. "Rabbits, rats, wild dogs...depending on the animal I guess. We spread it around on the ground and they'll come eventually."

"But what if there's another earthquake? Then we would have wasted it," Quincy points out.

"Well, then I guess there's only one way to make sure that we don't," I say mischievously.

"Annie, you don't mean..." Quincy begins, his face twisting in disgust.

I nod, smiling slowly.

"Ew! No!"

"Come on, Quincy!"

"There is no way I'm covering myself in pee!" he objects.

"Even if your life depended on it?" I ask.

"Why can't you do it?" he complains.

"Okay, how about this: you wear it today, and I'll wear it tomorrow. There's plenty of it in there," I suggest.

"Fine," he consents. Five minutes later he reeks of animal stink. Ten minutes later we have a hefty brown rabbit to cook.

"Well, I guess it's rabbit pee," I say. "Come on, it's almost dusk. Let's get a fire started and..."

The rocks around me become slightly out of focus. "And..."

"Annie?" Quincy asks, concerned. "Annie?"

"And...um...fire started..." The world blurs again, and then becomes black altogether.

* * *

When I come conscious, I feel like I was just attacked by a shark.

Everything hurts; my head, my stomach, my legs and arms. Not only that, but I'm exhausted. Like I haven't slept in days. I do notice that it's well into the night, and that there is a warm orange glow flickering among solid cave walls. Quincy must have started a fire...

I roll over. Quincy is unconscious beside me.

I scramble to my feet, steadying myself on the wall when the cave tilts to a dangerous angle. Leaning against the adjacent wall, watching me with something like amusement on his face, is Arthor.

"Have a good sleep?" he asks.

"I...I..." I stutter. I can't think of anything to say. Quincy and I are trapped.

"Here," he says, patting the space next to him. "Why don't you come sit beside me?"

My face burns. This is surely being broad casted. Finnick... "No, I think I'll stay over here."

"Are you sure? I've got lots of food," he says, sliding a rock holding the rabbit and some various herbs. My mouth waters and my stomach growls. I look at Quincy.

"I'll wait for my brother," I decide, crouching in front of him protectively.

"More for me," Arthor shrugs. He takes a rabbit leg and bits into it. I watch grease dribble down his chin.

"That's ours!" I protest.

"I don't see your name on it," he replies with a cocky grin. "If you want it, come get it."

I stay put. "So...how did you...find us?"

"You were both passed out from hunger a couple miles from here. I brought you to my cave and nursed you back to health," he says with a wink.

"Why aren't you with the Careers?" I ask.

"They're a bunch of imbeciles," Arthor rolls his eyes. "The only reason I paired with them was so I could get some loot from the Cornucopia without being slaughtered. Then I snuck away when it was my turn to watch."

I have to admit, that's smart. I've never heard of anyone using that strategy before, but obviously it's worked. Arthor is doing just fine in his little cave. He has a large backpack overflowing with food, a nice fire going, blankets neatly folded in the corner, and weapons jutting from every opening of his jacket. I do notice the big red gash on the side of his face. "You were cut?"

"The earthquake," he explained. "My old cave collapsed and almost took me with it. Your nose?"

"The boy from District Eleven broke it," I say.

"Wow, really? You took on that ox?" Arthor says.

"Yeah, but he got away."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I took care of him," Arthor remarks. I feel a chill go down my spine. It isn't quite what he said, but the way he said it. His tone is...pleasure. I could probably understand triumph, maybe, but actual enjoyment at another human's death? I shudder.

"How long have we been out?" I ask hoarsely.

"Only a couple hours as far as I know," he said. "You probably had a good day left if I hadn't found you."

A few hours...so the cannon that morning...it was Kur's. "Did anybody else...?"

"No, only Kur," Arthor says.

I curse under my breath. That means the audience will be getting antsy, waiting for more action. The Gamemakers will need to answer their cries. Quincy stirs beside me. I brush the hair from his forehead. Suddenly, another chilling question comes to mind. "Arthor?"

"Yes?"

"Why didn't you kill us?"

"You could be of some use to me. No need for you to go to waste," he says matter-of-factly. I stare at him in disbelief. The way he talks about us...it's like we're pawns! Minor obsticles if crossed, maybe. He's not in the least bit concerned about us winning!

He meets my eyes and holds up the other rabbit leg. "You sure you don't want any?"

Quincy groans and opens his eyes. "Annie?"

"I'm here," I say, putting my hand on his.

He looks around the cave and sees Arthor. "What the...where are we?"

I explain as we eat rabbit. Soon I am as full as I've ever been in the arena. I'm beginning to wonder if pairing up with Arthor isn't a bad thing after all. Sure, he's a little slimy but Quincy and I can just sneak away or kill him if things become too strained. If we can just get some weapons from him we'd have the upper hand in a fight.

Arthor offers to take first watch. Quincy and I feel uneasy about this, but we're both still exhausted. Besides, there is only a few hours left in the night. I'm not sure if Arthor is nocturnal like the Careers, but he doesn't seem in the least bit tired. Which is absurd, because he had to drag both me and Quincy half a mile across steep rocks and stay awake while we slept. He should be ready to collapse.

"Are you sure? You did a lot today...maybe one of us should take first watch," I insist.

"Don't worry about it," Arthor says, digging around in his pocket. He pulls out of handful of the mysterious red berries. "I've got these."

"Hey, we ate those! That's how we got out of the emotion tampering trap," I say.

"You ate these? Well, that's probably why you passed out," Arthor says. "These are adrenaline berries. They're the main refined ingredient in morphling. They tap into the part of your brain that produces adrenaline and 'opens the gates', so to speak. The only set back is that you become extremely tired afterward unless you eat more. It makes them highly addictive."

"Huh," I say. "Adrenaline berries? Is that what they're called?"

"I'm not sure if that's the official term, but that's what Zona told me," Arthor remarks before dumping them in his mouth.

"Are you sure you should be eating them if they're so addictive?" Quincy says.

"I'm not worried about it. When I get out of this arena I can buy enough morphling to satisfy my needs for three lifetimes," Arthor laughs, washing down the berries with a water. I look at Quincy.

Something tells me that Arthor doesn't plan on letting us live for long.

* * *

**This chapter was interesting to write. What do you think about it, hmm?**

**I feel like my chapters are getting shorter and shorter. Sorry about that. I'll try to make the next one longer. **

**~Smurf**


	11. The Arena: Day Four

**Prepare for the most exciting chapter yet! **

* * *

**T**he **A**rena - **D**ay **F**our

* * *

Arthor immediately takes to our plans to walk to the other side of the lake. Before we can shrug him off, he's packed up the possessions from his little cave and is following us across the perilous rocks. Whether we like it or not, Quincy and I have a new teammate.

It's not all bad, though. He shares his bounty of food, so we don't need to use the rest of the rabbit attractant yet. My real desire is to get him to share his weapons with Quincy and me, but he doesn't seem ready for that. And, quite frankly, I can't say I blame him. After all, the main reason I want those weapons is so I can cut his throat when he becomes too dangerous. I'm sure the feeling is mutual.

I might just kill him before he becomes dangerous. Arthor is brash, insulting, arrogant, and just downright irritating. He makes a remark about everything, relevant or not. Every time we see an adrenaline bush, we have to stop and pick berries for him. Arthor never seems to have enough. He eats the berries like there's no tomorrow. He probably eats a whole bush worth of them every two hours or so. If we don't find a way to replace the eaten fruit, he becomes sluggish and grouchy, often threatening us with his various weapons at high volumes. As much as it pains me, I know we can't do anything about him until we get our hands on those same weapons. All we can do now is wait and bare his maddening temper.

On the bright side, I can tell we are getting closer to the far side of the lake. The ground is becoming more level, and there are small patches of trees popping up among the rocks. Every time we get to one of these patches, Arthor insists that I climb the tallest tree to scout our location. I don't have much experience climbing trees, but neither does Quincy or Arthor, and I'm much smaller then they are. So I climb as high as I dare, normally only about twenty feet off the ground. Most of the time I see the edge of the hill surrounding the lake, and the occasional sparkle of water. Once I climb up and see a series of huge dams with frightening amounts of water gushing through them.

We travel upwards. I don't know how far we're going to go until Quincy decides it's far enough. Until we can see the lake? Until we get close enough to dip our feet in the water? When we fought, Quincy did say something about taking a swim.

As we hike up a hill, Arthor complaining about how his berry supply is getting low, a cannon goes off.

Then another.

Then another.

We all freeze at the sounds. There aren't any more cannons, but three people dead in the daylight...something is going on. It makes me uncomfortable not knowing what it is. By the look on my companions' faces, they feel the same.

There is a slight shift in the breeze. Arthor sniffs and his face becomes stern. "Do you smell that?"

"Smell what?" I ask, inhaling. The scent is barely there, just tickling at the edge of my nostrils. It's earthy and metallic. The smell of freshly upturned dirt.

"Earthquake?" Quincy suggests.

"Probably," Arthor nods. "If we can smell it, then it probably happened pretty close to here, from the north judging by the breeze."

"But that's where the Careers are," I point out.

"Exactly. The Gamemakers are trying to flush us out, get us to come together and fight. We should keep our guards up." Arthor pauses. He looks down at his belt for a moment and pulls out two long blades. "Take these. If we meet anybody..."

Quincy and I take the blades. Despite their size, they are rather light and shaped like a short sword. Sticking the weapons in our belts, we travel on. We don't encounter any earthquakes or any people, but the earth smell gets stronger. Soon we discover the wreckage of the quake. There are toppled trees and jagged boulders sticking out in every direction. But the most disturbing thing is the large crack that splits the ground. It's twenty feet long, and maybe a foot wide. I don't dare see how deep it is. I'm not sure I want to know.

"Wow," Quincy breathes. We have never seen anything like this. Arthor, though, does not look impressed. Maybe these are a common occurrence in his district. The thought fills me with pity.

"Come on," he ushers, pushing me forward harder than he needs to. I turn to glare at him, but he doesn't seem to care.

Quincy does, however. He puts a hand on Arthor's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "Don't touch her."

"What are you going to do about it?" Arthor sneers, taking his index finger and jabbing me on the cheek. I slap his hand away and scowl, but to me it's really not a big deal. Arthor's just being a jerk.

Quincy punches him in the jaw.

"Quincy!" I say, aghast. "It's not a big - "

I stop when I see Arthor's expression. It's like every muscle in his face has shut down, leaving nothing but a blank mask. For some reason, it reminds me of the machines that package the fish we catch for shipping. He retaliates before I can thaw, socking Quincy in the stomach. Suddenly they are both on the ground, punching and kicking each other violently. Like a tiny spark that has caught fire, blazing and burning until there is nothing left. I try to find a way to get between them or, at the very least land a blow on Arthor, but there are no openings.

Arthor throws Quincy to the ground, scrambling to his feet. I see him reach for his sword.

Before I can think, I'm standing in front of Quincy, arms and feet extended, shielding him with as much of my body as I can. I didn't have the sense to draw my sword, but somehow I know that Arthor won't kill me. Not yet.

And he doesn't. Why would he? I could still be of some use to him, as can Quincy. Still, I keep a cautious eye on him just in case.

"You guys are being ridiculous," I snap. "Look what you've done to yourselves. Now we're going to have to camp here. You two can't travel in your conditions. You've set us back another day for no reason. Way to go."

Arthor sneers at me. "Just scape your brother off the ground so we can go. I don't want to camp here."

"Why?" I ask. "If there's another earthquake, it's not likely to happen here."

"That," he says, pointing to a boulder. It is covered in smears of blood and chunks of...flesh. "It will start to stink in a few hours."

I gag. "Maybe we should walk a little farther. Come on, Quincy."

I help him up. Both of them are bruised and a bit bloodied, but it doesn't like there was any serious injury. Either way, it's not going to make the rest of our journey comfortable. No doubt that Arthor will complain the whole way. I sigh, imagining the hours of moaning.

It's obvious that we aren't going to get far. The sky is turning hues of lavender and the temperature is plummeting. Besides that, Quincy and Arthor aren't moving very quickly, and they look exhausted. We find a nice cave a couple miles from the earthquake and eat some food from Arthor's pack. Quincy offers to take first watch, and I don't argue because I know he doesn't want to sleep beside Arthor. Not that I do, but since they beat each other to a pulp, I figure that I could probably deal with Arthor for one night.

In the tiny expance of the cave, I manage to keep a few inches between us. I roll over so my back is to Arthor. Then I change my mind and lay with my back to the ground. I'm not used to sleeping on my back though, and soon the only alternitive I can find is rolling on my side facing Arthor. I know this is the only way I will get any sleep, but I still wait several minutes until a build up the tolerance to do it.

He is staring at me, amused. I close my eyes and try to ignore him. But I guess he's feeling conversational tonight, because he begins talking.

"Why are you doing this?"

I open my eyes. "Doing what?"

"Dealing with me? You know how it's going to turn out."

"The same reason why you're dealing with Quincy and me. I can use you still."

"I don't get you," he says. "Do you really want him to go home, or was that just an act?"

"What if it was your sister here?" I snap, insulted by such a suggestion. "Would you be able to live, knowing she could have if you'd died?"

Arthor snorts. "Yes. My sister's an annoying brat."

"But...you said...at the interviews..." I stutter. I can't fathom what kind of demented person Arthor is. Yes, siblings can be irritating sometimes, but that doesn't mean you should want them to die in your place.

"That was just to milk the pathetic losers at the Capitol," Arthror whispers. We are talking so low that the microphones shouldn't be able to catch what we're saying. "I don't care about my sister. Miranda will probably be dead by the time I get back. She's sick."

"But you...you said you'd kill to get back to her," I squeak. He did say this, at the interview with Caesar.

"Annie, you want to know a secret?" Arthor asks. His face is so unbelievably cruel, so inconceivably terrifying that I can't speak. He continues. "I've been trained to kill. It's practically my duty. My job."

I recoil. How can killing be a_ job_? What is he, an assassin? Some kind of disciplinary enforcer, like an unofficial Peacekeeper? I don't know, and he doesn't tell me. Instead, he gives me a chilling smile. He leans forward, until his mouth is at my ear. "And you know what else, Annie? I absolutely _love_ my job."

* * *

I'm not able to sleep. It's impossible, with such a person laying beside me. I'm still curled up against the wall, listening to Quincy's soft, rhythmic breathing. He's asleep, this much I know. I should probably drag him deeper into the cave and take watch, but I'm still. No, I'm not perfectly still; tremors rack my body. Quincy and I have no chance of defeating this monster, not by ourselves. If Arthor continues to survive, it will be beyond my capability to get my brother home.

Surely Arthor must know this. Yet he is sound asleep, right next to me. Does he really think I won't kill him in his sleep? He's definitely not that niave. Although I know that if I'm going to kill him the most convienient time would be now, I still don't move. I can't seem to build up the courage to strike him. I'm trembling next to him in the darkness like a coward. No matter how many pep talks I give myself, I just can't seem to raise myself off the ground.

That is, until the rumbling starts.

It's coming from above us. I turn my head in that direction and sit up. Yes, that is definitely the sound of an earthquake. I catapult over Arthor and grab Quincy, trying to shake him awake. He won't wake up though. For a moment, I'm certain that he's dead. Before I can become unhinged, I realize that he's breathing. No, he's just asleep. So why isn't he waking up?

There's no time to think anymore. I can feel the vibrations in the earth. Over the thunder, I hear a boom of a cannon. I grab Quincy and drag him away from the collapsing cave by the armpits. I prop him up against a rock and peek over and watch the cave collapse.

Another cannon goes off.

I have a second to feel relief that Arthor is dead. Then the vibrations become a violent shaking. I hold on to Quincy for dear life. The shaking is slamming me into the rock, onto the ground, into my unconscious brother. At one moment my head cracks against the boulder, and I black out.

When I come to, the quake has stopped and Quincy is stirring about two feet away from me. I sigh in relief and slowly sit myself up.

The ground collapses under me, and I am falling. At last second I grab the edge of the huge abyss that threatens to engulf me. I try to pull myself up, and I manage to get most of my upper body safely on the ground. Suddenly, a figure appears out of the shadows. I don't see who, but they kick me back down into the abyss. And this time, there is nothing to grab hold of. So I do the only thing that I can think to do.

I scream.

* * *

**CLIFF HANGER! Hehe, I know I'm terrible. But you can count on the next chapter coming out really quick. And just in case you're wondering about the body count, there are six people left in the Game, including Annie and her brother. If you want to find out who, you will have to read the next chapter. Bum bum buuuum! **

**~Smurf **


	12. The Arena: Day Five

**Okay, here's the relief for your cliff hanger-itis. Enjoy!**

* * *

**T**he **A**rena - **D**ay **F**ive

* * *

I know the sensation of falling well. When I was seven, I fell off a dock and into the ocean. When I was nine, I fell off the slide on a playground at my school. When I was fourteen, I fell off the roof of my house while helping my mother patch it up after a storm. So it's safe to say that I know falling.

I am not falling.

Well, I do fall for a moment. But it's only a moment. Then I'm not falling anymore. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm flying. And then that magical sensation is over, and I'm hitting the ground.

The wind is knocked out of me. I struggle to breathe, and I am rewarded after a few seconds. I sit up on my elbows. The mysterious figure is now leaning over Quincy. I see the flash of a metal blade.

"NO!" I scream. The figure snaps it head towards me and starts. I'm supposed to be falling to my death. Instead, miraculously, I'm standing up and drawing my short sword. "Get away from him."

The figure laughs and stands. Zona steps into the moonlight. Her condition is much worse than mine. She has one arm in a makeshift sling, and she is limping slightly. There is a jagged cut along her forehead. That sleek black hair that everyone admired at the Capitol is sheered. She's almost bald.

"Well, well, well," she cooes. "You're harder to kill than I thought. I didn't think you'd make the top eight."

"The top eight?" I say. I suppose that would make sense. At least five cannons have gone off tonight alone. "Who's left?"

"You, me, your brother, Opal, Penelope, the boy from Eight, the girl from Nine, Arthor, and that little twit from Three as far as I know," Zona sneers. "But then again, two more cannons just went off."

"So there are six people left," I say, almost to my self. Quincy might just make it home.

"And it's about to be four!" Zona says. Then she lunges for me.

I jump out of the way, but her knife still catches my shoulder. I grit my teeth and block her next attack. She's really fast. Too fast for me to keep up with.

Not only that, but Zona plays dirty. As I'm struggling to keep her blade away from my face, she kicks the back of my leg and my knees give out. I manage to roll out of the way just as the tip of her knife sinks into the earth. I take a swing at her shins, but she leaps out of the way, leaving her knife in the dirt. I scramble to my feet and pull it out before she can think to try again.

"Smart one," she praises, pulling another lethal-looking blade from her belt. "This is going to be fun."

As she leaps for me again, she grabs another, smaller knife from her belt and chucks it at me. I don't dodge it in time, and it sinks into my arm. I cry out in pain just before she descends upon me.

I barely manage to block her attack, and even then a lot of the force goes straight to my shoulder. I do keep the sharp edge away from my flesh though. I can see what Zona's trying to do now. She's rendering my arms useless so she can have some fun with me. Give the Capitol a good show.

I can't let her kill me. Because if I die, then Quincy dies.

I barrel into her, sending us both to the ground. Desperately, I try to stab her, but she shoves my hand away and hits me in the jaw with the butt of her knife. Then her knee sinks into my stomach and she pushes me off of her. Before I can get up, she kicks me back down and spits blood in my face.

"You're more annoying than that girl from Three," she snaps. I don't know what Evee did to her, but she obviously has a grudge. Zona raises her blade to sever my life, once and for all. But she freezes at the sound of Quincy's groan. He's waking up.

She slowly turns back to me and puts down her knife. "No, I'm going to let you live a bit longer. You're going to watch my cut your brother up into itsy bitsy pieces instead. And then, after you hear his screams and see him beg me for mercy, I'm going to do the same to you."

I bare my teeth at her. She laughs cruelly and skips over to Quincy, moving faster than I'm in any condition to move. I watch as she looms over him, knife in hand. _Come on!_ I think fiercely. _Get up! Walk!_ But talking to my body does nothing. I'm struggling to my feet when Quincy begins screaming.

Zona thows a finger in front of me.

The blood drains from my face. Then I can feel the rage coursing through me, red fury blurring the edge of my vision. With adrenaline traveling through my blood, I stand and lunge at Zona. I manage to get a blow to her face before I hear rumbling coming from the top of the hill. I know this sound well, and I can tell by the fear in Zona's eyes that she does too. She shoves me off of her and makes a run for it. But it's too late. She only gets a few meters away before she is enveloped in dirt and boulders. I can see her tumbling down the mountain.

I dive for Quincy and shield him. We are at the very edge of the avalanche so the rocks are just skimming over my back, but it feels like I will have a few nasty bruises later. Well, it could be worse. I could be Zona.

A cannon goes off.

When the rocks are finally done tumbling, I am buried in dirt but relatively unscathed. I can't say the same for Quincy, who wears an expression of severe pain and is bleeding from the wound in his right hand. Zona cut off his right index finger savagely. I can see the bone.

I've never been a medical type of person. I've seen enough blood and bone and vomit over the years for me not to feel queasy at the sight of it, but that is the extent of my tolerance. Besides that, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to stop the bleeding or how to clean the wound. The most I can do right now is dress it, but I don't even have any bandages. I do remember what Maya told me about the grey material of the shirt being similar to that of bandages and that it is easy to tear. I rip the sleeves of my shirt to the elbows with a little difficulty, but I soon have enough to sloppily bandage Quincy's hand. The grey material is quickly soaked with blood.

I hear another sound. It's not the booming thunder of an earthquake though. It's the scraping sound of falling sand. Someone is coming to finish Quincy and me off. I stand and flash my blade, hoping it's not Opal or Penelope.

And it's not. It's Evee.

She looks worse off then Zona did. Haunted eyes, hallowed face, several obvious signs of malnutrition and dehydration. She's practically shaking as she stumbles down the side of the hill. Nevertheless, I keep my weapon drawn.

"What is it, Evee?" I ask. I honestly don't want to kill Evee, but I don't necesarily want to pair up with her either.

She slides to a stop in front of me, looking me in the eyes. "You owe me."

"What? I do not," I say. What on earth is she talking about?

"That avalanche," she explained. "I caused it. I saved your life, and your brother's life. I killed Zona. You owe me."

"How do I know you're not lying?" I say hesitantly.

"I can tell you exactly how I did it," Evee replies and launches into a long, complicated lecture with words I don't even know the meaning of. Between her explanation she has several coughing fits, and I can't help it; I pity her. But I don't want to pair up with her, not now with so few people left in the competition. If I could live with myself, I would kill her right now.

_But you won't have to live with yourself for long, I think_. My hand that is holding the blade twitches. _That's right. It's better for Quincy if I just kill her now._

Suddenly, Finnick's voice pops into my head. _Don't do anything you're going to regret later_, he said. I think of how I could have been friends with Evee if she'd lived in District Four, of how intelligent she is, of how much I think she'd love the tide pools. On top of that, she saved Quincy's life. Where's my sense of honor? Of gratitude? I lower my weapon, ashamed.

"I can't team up with you," I tell her. "But I can give you what little food and water I have."

She shakes her head. "No good. I want to team up."

"NO," I say firmly. "There are only a handful of tributes left."

"I'll split with you when the time comes," says Evee. "I don't want to have to fight you or Quincy."

I open my mouth to argue, but she stops me by saying, "Besides, I know how to bandage Quincy up properly. Stop the blood from flowing. I even know some medical herbs to disinfect the wound."

That shuts me up. I need Evee right now, and by the way she's looking at Arthor's food pack (which I did manage to snag before the cave collapsed) she needs me just as much.

"Fine," I say. "Do that and I'll team up with you."

We drag Quincy to a nearby stream and wash his hand and the strips of shirt. It's terrifying to see the amount of blood rushing down the with the water, but Evee assures me that it's very diluted so it may look like a lot, but it's really not. She doesn't see any good medical herbs at the moment, so she just wraps up Quincy's hand much more skillfully than I had.

I share my food and start a fire with some flint in Arthor's pack. We decide that it's too dangerous to hide in a cave with the recent increase in earthquakes, but we don't want to be sitting ducks beside this river. We eventually settle for a patch of tall trees beside the river. By now the sun is sinking over the horizon, and the temperature is dropping. According to Zona, there were six tributes left before today. I wonder who remains now. The Capitol seal lights up the sky, and the first picture pops up. Penelope. The second picture pops up.

It is Zona.

The feeling of dread hits me so hard that I barely notice the other two faces, the boy from Eight and the girl from Nine. Arthor somehow survived the earthquake. He knows where we're headed, and if he heard Quincy's and my screams then he knows that at least one of us is injured. He must be heavily wounded as well. He might have survived the collapse, but there is no possible way for him to come out of it unscathed.

So Arthor will need a few days of recovery, at least. I glance at Quincy, who is still unconscious. Quincy might need a day or two of recovery as well. When he wakes, we will hunt down Arthor and kill him once and for all.

"It seems there are only five of us left," Evee says. "The three of us and the remaining two Careers. Perhaps we should split up."

"I think that would be a good idea," I agree. "I know it's selfish, but I don't want to be the one who has to kill you."

"I feel the same," Evee replies, standing. "I wish you and your brother luck, Annie. If I don't win, I hope one of you does."

"Thank you," I say. She ducks under a branch and disappears into the night. Maybe it is her swiftness that's helped her through this. The Careers can't kill her if they can't catch her.

I once again look at my brother. He is still in a deep slumber. Evee felt his pulse and such things, and declared that he'd been drugged. This would explain why Arthor was so confident of our loyalty in the cave. He knew that if I tried to strike him I wouldn't get far enough away to avoid his retaliation unless I left Quincy. Which, of course, I would never do.

Hopefully he wakes up soon. I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep. I must keep watch. I spot an adrenaline bush and decide to eat some berries, just this once. When Quincy wakes up I'll crash and he can take watch.

As soon as I dump the berries into my mouth, I'm wide awake and ready for anything. I settle against a tree trunk beside Quincy and wait, drawing pictures in the dirt with the tip of my knife. If someone comes this time, I will be ready.

* * *

**There you are folks, no cliff hangers. Hope you liked this chapter! I'm sorry to say that there are only a few more chapters left, but it's been a good story. Don't despair, there's still more to come! It's not over yet! **

**~Smurf**


	13. The Arena: Day Six

**I couldn't stop writing this chapter. You might wanna sit down for this. Just sayin'. **

* * *

**T**he **A**rena - **D**ay **S**ix

* * *

Quincy doesn't wake until well after dawn. When he speaks, it's like he's talking through a mouthful of marbles. He is sluggish and drowsy, unable to move for more than a few minutes. Obviously, he is in no condition to travel and I don't want to give him any adrenaline berries, partially because I don't know how they will react with whatever Arthor gave him and partially because I don't want him to crash again. Unfortunately I can already feel the side effects of the berries wearing away. My only options are to leave us defenseless or give in to another dose of berries.

I choose the berries.

Quincy dozes off for most of the morning, the last of the drug fading out of his system. When he is alert I spend my time restocking our resources near the campsite, taking only what I know will fit in our pack. I don't want to lose everything again if there is another earthquake.

As the morning shifts into afternoon, I have a feeling that the Gamemakers will be doing something to drive the last of us together. Even with all the deaths and fights yesterday, the crowd will be getting bored with our lethargic recovery. Since the theme of this years' Games seems to be earthquakes, I think it's safe to assume that that's what we'll be facing in their attempt to bring the tributes together.

As for the other tributes, I think it's a safe bet that our biggest threat, Arthor, is recovering as well. Opal is probably either recovering or hunting. Evee is most likely hiding somewhere. I'm not too concerned about her right now, but I do know that if I encounter her again, honor or no honor, I will have to kill her. It's just getting too close to the end for my comfort. Everyone here is an enemy now. Even me.

I do consider this too. I honestly didn't think I'd last this long. I suppose it's a good thing I did, but it's time for me to face the facts. I can't let it come down to me and Quincy. He will try to commit suicide in order for me to win. I need to beat him to the punch.

But not yet. Not when he's drugged and defenseless, and certainly not with Arthor out there. Opal does cross my mind, but I think that Quincy will be able to handle him alone. So, it's decided. As soon as we kill Arthor, I will kill myself. I don't know how yet, but I'll think of something. I know I won't have the courage to stab myself, and I don't know what's poisonous here. Maybe I can tie weights to my ankles and jump in the lake. Not only will that leave Quincy less traumatized, I hear that drowning is supposed to be the most peaceful way to die.

So, drowning it is then.

When Quincy feels well enough to walk, we begin hiking upwards. I expect that Arthor will continue to the lake as well, to ambush us. But we will get there first and Arthor will be the one who is ambushed.

We don't have to hike for long. There is a break in the trees, and suddenly we can see the lake.

It really is the most beautiful thing I've seen since the ocean. It stretches for miles. The Cornucopia is just a tiny golden dot on the horizon. The breeze is so wonderfully cool and familiar, and, although there is a huge dam gushing water about a quarter mile away, the water is sparkling and still. Staring at this amazing thing in front of me, this lake which I immediately dub as a small piece of my home, filled with memories of Mother and Father and Quincy and even the fleeting ones of Finnick, I can't help it.

I burst into tears.

* * *

After my episode, Quincy and I receive a silver parachute. It's a loaf of crispy, salty green bread from District Four and thick slices of fish. The Capitol citizens wishing to cheer me up. Or maybe just Finnick. Either way, we sit at the edge of the lake and enjoy our gift, devouring all of the fish and half of the loaf of bread. Then, against our better judgement, we shed our clothes and dive into the cool water of the lake. We wash and splash and swim, just like old times. How ironic, my playing the very water that will be my demise? Then we dry in the sun with our finally clean clothes. I actually fall asleep under the sun, the effects of the berries finally wearing off completely.

When I wake, I am dressed in my damp clothes and sitting up against the trunk of a tree. The sun is poised above the horizon, not quite ready to set. Quincy is sitting across from me, frowning at the lake. I know that look. He's thinking. Not good.

"Quincy?"

His gaze flickers towards me. "Good, you're up. Can you walk?"

"Yes," I say, getting to my feet. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Another cannon just went off. We need to get moving."

"Right," I agree. We grab our stuff and begin to walk. I silently wonder whose cannon that was. Also, what was Quincy thinking about? He wasn't contemplating suicide, was he?

_Of course not_, I think. Somehow, I know that he won't do anything drastic until both Arthor and Opal are vanquished from the arena. He knows I can't take on either of them by myself. I only need to wait for Arthor to die. I have the advantage.

Thinking of our fellow tributes, I remember something. "Oh, Quincy, I forgot to ask. How's your hand doing?"

"It hurts, but I'll survive," he says, holding up the bandaged hand. We cleaned the strips of cloth in the lake, but they are still looking very dirty.

"Are you sure you don't need any more bandages?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

We travel in silence until we can just barely see the tip of the sun above the horizon. Quincy stops at the trunk of a big tree, sighing. "I can't see anything. We'll rest here and continue tomorrow."

"Okay," I say, looking up at the tree. "I just want to see where we are."

"Annie, don't - " Quincy begins, but I have already shed my pack and am shimmying up the trunk. I climb to the highest branch and spot the lake a few miles away, black as ink. There is a gentle breeze coming from that direction. I let my legs dangle from the branch. I'm content, for the moment. I close my eyes and breathe in the night air.

I nearly topple out of the tree when the anthem booms in my ears. I look up at the seal, anticipating the face that will greet me tonight. Will it be Arthor? I hope it's Arthor.

It's not Arthor. Or Opal, even. That's right, the eyes that stare back at me are Evee's. Quick, intelligent Evee who would love the tide pools. Although I didn't really know her, she was the closest thing I had to an ally, besides Quincy. I am saddened by her death. I wonder who killed her. I really hope that, whoever it was, they killed her mercifully. But somehow, I know that this is not the case. Whether it was Opal or Arthor, they would want to give the Capitol a good show.

If it was Arthor then...

Then he's recovered and coming after us.

The thought sends me swinging from branch to branch, trying to get to Quincy as fast as I can. When I'm about twenty feet off the ground, the rumbling starts. I'm almost knocked out of the tree. Holding on to the branch for dear life, I endure the shaking. I can hear weaker trees around me falling, but this one is fairly sturdy. But what about Quincy? What's going on down there?

Taking a deep breath, I let go of the branch and fall for another ten feet. When I can see the ground, I quickly extend my limbs and attempt to grab a branch. I fall right onto one. Rubbing bark out of my eyes, I hold tight to it again and look around until I find Quincy. My blood runs cold.

Quincy and Arthor are stumbling around in circles, sizing each other up. They both have weapons, and they are both bleeding. The ground is still shaking visiously, so hard that I can barely keep my teeth from chattering. The fact that they are both standing amazes me. I want to go down and help, but I'm too high up to jump and I can't climb down without giving up my position and making myself susceptible to Arthor's blade. Besides, I wouldn't be able to do much with all this shaking.

As Arthor lunges at Quincy, the tree beside me snaps with a loud crack and collapses in my direction. It hits the tree I'm on hard, sliding further down the trunk and snapping branches and bark above me. The branches from the other tree bludgeon me also. Suddenly, between the earthquake and the weight of the other tree, my tree groans and begins to fall. I can hear each fiber of wood cracking and snapping out of alignment. Then there is a release that makes my stomach twist, and all is a flurry of wood and leaves. I can't see anything, not even Quincy or Arthor. I scream, but I doubt anyone can hear me over the falling tree and the rumbling of the earthquake.

I hit the ground hard. The branches of the tree don't make a comfortable cushion, but it is an effective one. Other than bruises and cuts, I am unharmed.

But what about Quincy? What happened?

I scramble out of the mangled trees, not caring who hears me now. I just need to know if Quincy's safe. The branches won't move, so I grope for my knife and slash them out of my way. My hand is unsteady from the vibration of the earth, but I can eventually see starry sky. I kick and whack the branches away, frantic. Please let Quincy be alright. Please, please, please!

I explode from the trees, only to trip over them and fall forwards. I kick myself out of the trees, hysterically swinging my head back and forth looking for my brother and our rival. I see them at the same time the trees release my legs. They are still fighting, and it actually seems like Quincy has the upper hand. I shakily stand. Relief floods through me. Quincy is alive.

The earthquake stops as soon as Arthor's blade severs Quincy's neck.

I am still shaking. I hear Quincy's cannon. I watch his head roll downhill.

Right to my feet.

It's like when Zona threw the finger at me, but ten times worse. I am not filled with rage; I'm consumed by it. It envelopes every cell of my body. I hear a savage cry, but it doesn't sound like me. This doesn't feel like me. Where am I?

I don't see or hear or feel anything for the longest time. It's almost like I'm sleeping. When I come to my senses, someone's hands are taking my knife and sinking it into Arthor's flesh, again and again. These hands are too tiny and slender to be doing this kind of thing. With one more forceful stab, the hands let go of the knife and leave it in Arthor's neck. They are dripping with blood. Arthor's blood? I hold these hands up to my face.

These are my hands.

I scream. I scream and scream and scream but I don't wake up. I am awake already. I try to get away from these hands, these bloody hands, but when I fall backwards these are the hands that pat firmly against the earth, stopping my descent. Blood? Why all this blood? Why all this death? Make it stop!

A cannon goes off. Arthor's cannon? I clutch my head. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop! I don't want to hear that sound! Make it stop! When does it end? Why isn't it ending? Did it end? I just want it to end.

I am running. Running and running and running. Away from everything. Making it end. It needs to end. I run until I'm incapable of running anymore. I trip on the ground and stay there. The cannon sound is gone. All is still and silent. I curl up on the cool earth and watch a bug crawl on a blade of grass. It falls and -

I roll over on my back and watch the sky. The stars wink at me. Wink. Wink. Wink. Wink...

Clouds roll in and erase my winking stars. After a while, it starts to rain. Each drop that lands on me takes some of the blood with it. Am I forgiven now? For what I've done?

Lightening streaks across the sky. Majestic and powerful and beautiful.

Thunder follows.

I scream and cover my ears. Make it stop! This is not forgiveness! This is torture! No, not torture. Punishment.

I get up and run again. This space is too open. I need closed. Thunder booms. I cover my ears and duck into the first cave I see. I back up as far as I can go and I sit. Still too open. I bring my knees up to my chest. Better. Closed.

My heart beat slows. I numbly watch the rain stream down the mouth of the cave. Some of it is dripping inside. It looks black, like the waters of the lake. Now that I think about it, it almost looks like -

I curl up on the ground again. Shut my eyes. Darkness. Yes...I like darkness.

So, darkness it is then.

* * *

**This chapter! I couldn't stop writing! Which is horrible, because it's the worst chapter of them all. This is the chapter that nobody wanted to read. I'M SOOOO SOOORRRYYY QUINCY! DX **

**I hope I succeeded in the whole Annie-becoming-crazy thing. Did she seem crazy to you? Since I'm a bit insane myself (just kidding...mostly!) it was fairly easy to write. What do you think? *Note: if you think she was TOO crazy, she will probably become less crazy throughout the rest of the story. This was the trigger that set her off. For those of you that think she wasn't crazy enough...**

**Well, tough luck. That's as crazy as it's gonna get. **

**~Smurf**


	14. The Arena: Winner

**This chapter is really short, which is why I published it so quickly. Also, it's a little scatter-brained. Sorry if you get kinda confused. ^^" **

* * *

**T**he **A**rena: **W**inner

* * *

It's raining.

Raining stops.

Night time.

Day time.

Earthquakes. Screaming. Cracking roof.

Night time.

No cannons.

On my hands there is still Arthor's dried -

There is a puddle of rainwater by my face. I watch little black ants drink water from it. I didn't know ants drank anything. I never really thought about it. I watch a little black ant fall into the water. Too deep to swim. It struggles and struggles and -

Drowning. What about drowning? I was supposed to drown.

Why?

Quincy.

Quincy's not here at the moment. He will never be here anymore. Quincy's -

"Dead," I whisper. "Quincy's dead."

That is the only sound to penetrate the still air of the cave. Silence so loud it fills the room. Absolute silence.

"DEAD!" I scream. "QUINCY IS DEAD! IT'S YOUR FAULT! YOUR FAULT!"

It's Their fault. Quincy is dead because of Them.

I stand up and beat the black rock of the cave wall with my fist. "ANSWER ME, DAMN IT! IT'S _YOUR_ FAULT!"

I sink back to the ground. I've come to this conclusion after much thought. It's not my fault. It's not even Arthor's fault. It's Their fault. With Their stupid Hunger Games and laughter and merriment at Our death.

This is _Their fault_.

I curl back up on the ground. Yes, We all know it's Their fault.

And there's nothing We can do about it.

* * *

I've lost the fight in me. I've lost everything. I prepared for that earthquake so well, but I still lost everything. The Everything of everthings. My Quincy.

I don't want to fight. I just want to lay here and die.

Die.

Die.

Die.

I think that's what I screamed when I killed Arthor.

* * *

Earthquakes are happening more and more. It's raining too. I'm not sure how long my cave will continue to be structurally sound. It's amazing that it's managed to stay standing this long.

It's amazing that _I've_ managed to stay alive this long. I haven't consumed anything in days. Or so it seems. I've lost count of the days I've been here. All I know is that there haven't been any cannons. Opal is still out there somewhere, looking for me.

This should terrify me. It should, but it doesn't. I'm numb. All I've done is lay here. I haven't even cried a single tear for my brother.

He's dead you know. My big brother, Quincy. They killed him.

There is a loud groaning. It's not an earthquake. I don't know what it is. I ignore it.

There is something at the mouth of the cave. A figure. Big and tall. Humanoid. This figure crawls into the cave and I see details. Blond hair and eyes like ice. A mean, scarred face. Hatred etched on every line.

"I finally found you," Opal sneers, sitting next to me. He's alert at first, as if he actually expects me to attack. He begins to realize my state, and relaxes. He knows it's over. I've lost the will to fight.

"You're pitiful," he continues, taking a knife from his belt. "I'll kill you quickly. I want the get out of here anyway."

He puts the knife against my throat. This arouses something in me. A feeling. What is this feeling?

Panic.

Am I...panicking?

Am I afraid?

How can a numb person be afraid?

I have nothing to lose. I shouldn't be afraid. I want to die, right? Just let him kill me.

I have nothing to lose.

Nothing.

I have nothing...

Right?

Finnick. Finnick...

I have nothing to lose...

...But I have everything to gain.

I don't...

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die!

Opal gives me a small smile. "Say goodnight."

There is a another groan.

The cave explodes.

I am hit by a huge force. It knocks the breath out of me. Then I'm struggling, struggling to breathe. Struggling to move. Water surrounds every part of me. It tugs at my limbs and drags me out of the cave. Water is everywhere. I can't breathe! I'm drowning.

Isn't this what I wanted? To drown? When Quincy was going to win, I wanted to drown. But Quincy didn't win. So now what? Do I drown here? It _is_ supposed to be the most peaceful way to die.

If I'm dying, I should confess everything I've done wrong. I should clear my conscience. You know, I think there was a little tiny part of me that wanted to win these Games all along, even if Quincy did die. How wrong is that?

Do I still want to win? Do I want to live on, now that I'm so broken? Broken beyond repair?

I'm running out of air. I don't have much longer.

I gave Tally a promise. I told her I would bring Quincy back. I never break my promises.

I made another promise too...

Didn't I?

Yes, I did. I told Finnick that if Quincy didn't win...

That if Quincy didn't win...

That I would try.

I would try to win.

I've already broken one promise. I don't plan on breaking another.

I do the only thing I'm really, really good at. I swim.

And swim.

And swim.

But I can't find the surface.

Where is it? Where is air? I need air! Maybe it's too late to keep my promise.

I break the surface. There is air. I gasp and tread water, however I am still dragged back under.

But not before I hear the cannon shot.

That's it. It's really over.

I win.

* * *

**And that is the end of the 70th Hunger Games. But not the end of my story, so keep on reading! **

**~Smurf **


	15. The Capitol: Therapy

**The Hunger Games are now officially over, so everyone is asking: what happens next? Obviously it'd be cruel and unusual to end the story now (as my friend so _politely_ informed me; but you should thank her, because that's exactly what I was going to do) so the show must go on, at least until I can come up with a _proper_ ending.**

* * *

**T**he **C**apitol - **T**herapy

* * *

I sit on the long leather sofa, curled up in the corner as I usually am, though Dr. Greenswilsh always tells me that it's okay to sprawl out and let myself relax.

Relax? Please. Part of me is still in the Hunger Games; I'm not sure I'll ever be able to _relax_ again.

After Opal's cannon went off, my body was held immobile while I was air-lifted onto a hover craft. From there I was put into urgent care, all my bumps and bruises patched up, getting my nutrition from a tube injected into my arm. However, the vitamins I was receiving from the tube weren't near enough, but I couldn't bring myself to eat the food the nurses cheerfully brought to me. Eventually those peppy nurses were forced to restrain me and shove food down my throat. Even after that horrific incident, I fought to keep the "bad ladies" away. I locked the door to my room, screamed and cried and banged my head against the pillow of my bed, threatened to whack them with my IV. They finally kept me restrained all the time, and I surrendered.

As my physical being began to heal, the doctors set to work on my mental being. The doctors inspected me and I was officially given the label 'clinically insane'. From there I was handed over to Dr. Greenswilsh, who visited me in my hospital bed every day until I was able to walk to his office across the hall. Greenswilsh was my only visitor. He explained that, since I'm diagnosed with insanity, I'm not allowed to have any visitors. So it's not that no one _wants_ to see me, it's that no one is _allowed_ to see me.

Yeah, right.

I guess it could be worse. Dr. Greenswilsh really isn't that bad of a guy, for someone who lives in the Capitol. For two weeks I've attended his appointments (an hour every day, more if I request it; which I don't) and, though I really don't feel any different, he assures me I'm making progress.

Today he's late, which doesn't concern me. Dr. Greenswilsh practically runs the therapy department of the hospital, so he's always busy and, as a result, late for his appointments.

He arrives about fifteen minutes after the scheduled time for our appointment.

"Terribly sorry," he says, closing the door and sitting in the chair across from me. "I was - "

" - In a meeting?" I finish for him. He's almost always 'in a meeting'.

"Indeed," he chuckles. "It seems I'm becoming quite predictable. But you might be interested to know that this meeting was about you, Annie."

"Really?" I say, curiosity spiking despite my better judgement. Before I was declared insane, the doctors bounced from diagnosis to diagnosis. First I was just traumatized, after that I was deemed with post-traumatic stress, then I had some kind of aftershock sindrome that I can't even pronounce (it was written on my medical bracelet before they replaced it) and then I was pronounced with madness. What is the diagnosis this time?

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I was in a meeting with one of the President's representatives," Dr. Greenswilsh continues, flipping through the papers he keeps on his clipboard. "It seems that President Snow feels that you are stable enough to finish your duties pertaining to the Hunger Games."

Hunger Games. Dr. Greenswilsh of all people should know better than to say those words.

"N-no," I say, clutching my head; not to block out the cannon shots, to block out the memories. "I'm not going back. I can't -"

"Oh! My dear, I'm terribly sorry," Dr. Greenswilsh says. "You aren't going back the arena, I swear it."

But I'm too far gone for reasoning. "I can't go back. I can't go back."

"Annie, remember: deep breathing. You're not going back."

Deep breathing. Deep breathing. But I can't breathe, not with the water surrounding me.

"Annie, do it with me. Breath in" - Dr. Greenswilsh takes a deep breath - "Breathe out."

Breathe in. Breath out. In. Out. In. Out.

"Good girl," Dr. Greenswilsh sighs. "I didn't mean to alarm you. I was just saying that you still have to do the interview with Caesar Flickerman."

"I already did that interview before," I say, remembering my 'honest' technique.

"Yes, but this is the 'after' interview. Only you will be interviewed this time," Greenswilsh explains.

"They're making me talk about it?" I ask shrilly. "Even though I'm crazy?"

"Annie, you are not crazy," Dr. Greenswilsh says sternly. "Your mind is just injured. Over time it will repair itself. Like a cut, or a bruise. With the right circumstances, it will heal itself. You've already made remarkable progress."

"Will I...will I ever be the same?" I ask. I've put this question off for so long, for fear of what the answer might be.

Dr. Greenswilsh looks at me sadly. "Only time will tell, I'm afraid. The human mind is a remarkable thing. I've seen patients who had no chance of full recovery, and they somehow managed it. And, as I've said, your progress is good. You have a very good chance of recovering completely. But you must understand that that's never going to happen if you keep telling yourself otherwise. Do you understand, Annie?"

I nod.

"Good. Now, back to the interview," he continues. "This will be our last appointment. After this, you will go to your rooms and your stylist will prepare you for the interview, where things will go as if there has been no delay. Soon after the interviews you will go back to District Four."

I gape at him. Back to District Four. Back home. What will await me there, I wonder?

"What normally happens at the interviews?" I ask.

"Well, as far as I know, the stylist dress you up, then you go to the Capitol Building where you will meet with your mentors and be interviewed by Caesar Flickerman. After that, I'm afraid I don't know what happens."

"Didn't you say I'd get to go home?"

"Ah, yes. You will arrive to District Four by train and then...well, that will be the end of it until the Victory Tour," Dr. Greenswilsh says. He adds, "Also, if you need me while you are in District Four I will happily give you my number."

I cock my head at him. "Number?"

"Yes, my telephone number. You won't be living in your old house in District Four. You will be living in Victor's Village, remember? Your family has already been relocated there, so it should feel quite homey," Dr. Greenswilsh explains. "You will have a telephone in your new home."

My family. Mother and Father. How must they feel, now that Quincy is - ?

"Annie?"

Will they resent me? Can I even face them? I survived, while Quincy -

"Annie?"

It's not only my parents I need to worry about. Tally...oh, poor Tally. I don't think I can even -

"Annie?" Dr. Greenswilsh takes my shoulder. "Come back to me, Annie."

"Oh...I'm sorry," I say. I still do this sometimes, go off in my own distant land of worries.

"What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking...about my parents. How they will feel about me coming home," I confess.

"And how do you think they'll feel?" Dr. Greenswilsh asks.

"I...don't know. I'm not sure if they will be happy or...or if they'll hate me," I say.

"Why would they hate you?"

"Because...because... " I can't take it anymore. I squeeze my eyes shut and clutch my head. Quincy's head...

"Okay, Annie, I'm sorry. I won't ask you anything anymore, I promise," Dr. Greenswilsh says.

I keep my eyes and ears shut. He's a liar. He's one of Them.

Dr. Greenswilsh sighs. I've told him everything that's in my head, even my Us and Them complex. At first I thought he was one of Us, because he looks so normal. But when I caught him nonchalantly handing an electric blue woman a folder that read "Annie Cresta" in big black letters, I realized that he was not Us. He was working for Them.

So now Dr. Greenswilsh knows when I'm done talking to him. He knows when he's crossed the line from Us to Them. He doesn't quite grasp it, I can tell, but he knows when I'm finished. They have been trained to read Us like books. We haven't been trained at all.

"I think you need some time," he says. "Why don't you go to your room? I'll give you my phone number later."

I'm running out of the room before he even finishes the last word.

* * *

Besides Dr. Greenswilsh's office and the cafeteria, the only place I'm allowed to enter in the hospital is my room. Well, the room that was assigned to me. A simple square room with blank white walls, white floors, white plastic furniture, and white lights. The only speck of color in the room is the grey blanket neatly folded at the end of the otherwise white bed. There isn't even a useful window; the only window takes up half the wall by the door, but it looks out into the lobby. Besides this, it is covered by white blinds that I don't even bother to open.

Despite the depressing aura of the room, it is the only place where I have privacy. They say there aren't any cameras, and I haven't found any, but you can never be too sure.

I walk in and close the door behind me. It locks from the outside automatically, to ensure that I don't decide to wander around. The nurses have a universal key to every room, and that is the only way we are allowed to get out. Everything someone might need is supplied in the room; a bathroom, a closet with clothes (all white, of course), a small stack of (white) cups by the sink, should you need water. We get food on a schedule, which the nurses deliver.

I crawl into bed and unfold the grey blanket, draping it over my head. The nurses often find me like this, sitting on my bed under the grey blanket, like I used to do to obscure the light of a candle when I wanted to read after curfew back home. Until the blanket caught on fire, that is.

I'm not under this blanket to conceal light this time. I'm underneath this blanket so I don't have to look at my barren surroundings. It's just depressing.

I don't know how long I sit there. Normally I can stay still like this for an hour or two, then a nurse comes in or I have to use the bathroom. But this time, when the door clicks open and the blanket is pulled off my head, it isn't just a nurse. Maya is there, so wonderfully colorful and vibrant.

The nurse shakes her head at my behavior and thrusts the blanket aside. "You have a visitor, Annie. Be polite."

I scowl at her. It's no use saying anything to a nurse. They have been trained to dismiss anything us "lunatics" have to say.

"You have two hours maximum," the nurse says, turning to Maya. "Then you have to leave."

Maya smiles and hands her a paper. "I'm afraid that policy doesn't apply to me. I have a letter written by the President explaining the situation."

The nurse takes the letter and walks out of the room. I hear the all too familar click of the automatic lock.

"Sorry," I say, resting my chin on my knees. "You probably think I'm weird."

"Of course not," Maya says stiffly, giving me a strained smile. "Now, let's get started."

He walks into the bathroom hastily, not even bothering to tell me hello.

* * *

**I was going to make Maya give her a hug and tell her everything was alright, but then I thought: is that really how someone from the  
Capitol would act? If you think about it, it would make much more sense for Maya to be cautious of Annie's "madness", though it's a lot less satisfying character-wise. In fact, I don't even like Maya now. DX **

**~Smurf**


	16. The Capitol: Interview Part Two

**Will Maya come around? How will Annie react to reliving her worst moments in the Hunger Games? Plus, Finnick and Annie's reunion! :)**

* * *

**T**he **C**apitol - **I**nterview **(**Part Two**)**

* * *

Maya does his work swiftly and uneasily, with little talk. Normally it's a thoughtful, companionable quiet. Now it's a cold, dead silence. I even attempt to make conversation. I ask where Claudia, Balbus, and Laverna are. He simply says they couldn't come. I ask how he's been. I get a "fine". After several more brief answers, I just stop inquiring him.

Although it fills me with sorrow that Maya thinks I'm mad, his company and color is still appreciated. Just the warmth of another human being next to me, the sound of someone else's breathing is enough. The nurses normally come in and leave so quickly, so coolly. I miss personality and color and warmth. I miss people.

Maya's attitude may be sour, but it doesn't affect his work. After hours of brushing and polishing and fitting, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror adorned in a silky blouse the color of the sea, and a floor-length skirt (white, coincidentally) with a lacy hem. My shoes are bronze sandals that wrap around my calves and tie at my knees. Maya has braided my hair and let it fall down my back, several wavy strands coming loose. I notice that it's slightly shorter. He must have cut some of it. This doesn't bother me, really. My hair has gotten really damaged.

I barely even have make up on. My only accessories are my mother's pearl around my throat and some copper-looking bracelets. I try to see what angle Maya is working for, and then I remember: honest. I need to look real and true.

Idly, I wonder if the Capitol knows of my insanity. Surely they must. Or else they would be restless about the hold up with this interview.

Maya clears his throat. I jump, realizing that I've just been standing there while he's waiting beside the door of the bathroom. I smile at him and say shyly, "Thank you, Maya. It's beautiful. You've done it again."

He nods and, before he leaves the bathroom, I see a hint of a smile. Maybe Maya isn't lost to me after all.

I follow him outside and hesitate at the door. We aren't allowed to go outside our rooms without the permission and assistance of a nurse. Maya looks back at me questioningly.

"I...am I allowed to leave...?" I ask.

"Yes," Maya replies, turning and continuing towards the exit. "There is a car parked out front. I'm sure that your doctor knows of your departure."

I think of the flushed Dr. Greenswilsh, always late and never quite keeping track of anything. With one last look at my white hospital room, I jog across the lobby to catch up with Maya.

* * *

The windows of the car are heavily tinted, so I can barely see even blurry shapes outside. It's rather depressing, after being locked up in the cell of a white room for so long, but I suppose I will see plenty of color at the interview. Particularly the color red.

I cover my ears, trying to rearrange my scrambled thoughts as Dr. Greenswilsh suggested.

"Uh...anxious about the interview?" Maya says uncertainly.

"Yes, a bit," I lie. In truth, I can feel anxiety clawing up my throat, suffocating me. I just realized: I will have to see all those people die again, on the screen. I will have to watch Quincy's head -

I cover my ears again, and Maya stays silent.

The ride isn't very long, and I don't see where we are when we get out of the car. I am ushered inside before I can even think to look around. Even if I had wanted to, I highly doubt I would have been able, between the blinding sunlight and the people pushing me towards the door.

Inside is busy. Obviously things are different from the way they normally are. Is it because I was transported here from another place? Or is it because of my mental illness? I honestly don't know.

"Annie?" Maya calls, snapping me back to reality.

"Ah, sorry. Yes?"

"You're getting ready to meet up with your mentors. I have to go take my seat soon. Your mentors will walk you through it all, but I figured you might want to know the plan," Maya explains.

I simply nod. My mind is on the most important thing: my mentors. Finnick. I will see Finnick here.

Anxiety clutches me again.

"After you meet your mentors, you will be directed to the stage where the interviews take place. Caesar Flickerman will ask you a few questions, then, if everything goes well, you will be on a train to District Four tomorrow morning."

"What if everything goes wrong?" I ask.

Maya doesn't answer. He just leads me through the camera crews and directors and light technicians.

Then, at the end of the hallway, is Ophelia, Mags, and -

I freeze. Finnick? Where is Finnick?

I look around, knowing it is rude, knowing that Mags and Ophelia have spotted me and are waiting for me to run into their embraces. But I'm only concerned with one thing right now, and that is Finnick. The person I wanted to see the most.

I don't see him anywhere. Despair weighs down my limbs. Of course he doesn't want to see me. I'm not his Annie anymore. I'm a crazy girl in his Annie's body. I don't doubt, though, that he cared about me before. I truly believe he loved me, at one time. But does he love me still?

"Annie?" Mags says. Both her and Ophelia have walked over to me. Maya is giving me a look somewhere between concern and an extreme desire to leave. Ophelia hangs back behind Mags, uneasy. Even Ophelia is uncomfortable.

"Oh, sorry," I say. It seems like I've been saying that a lot. "Just a bit lost."

I give Mags and Ophelia hugs, ask them how they've been. Ophelia reverts back to her own, cheery self, and carries most of the conversation. Maya leaves after a few moments, seeing that Mags and Ophelia are capable of taking care of me. As Ophelia's last ramble dies down, we are left in silence. I clear my throat.

"So...um...where's Finnick?" I inquire.

"Oh, he's somewhere around here," Ophelia replies, looking this way and that. Mags looks at me with worried eyes. Is she worried about Finnick's absence? Or is she worried about me? "Well, whether he's here or not, the show must go on!"

We wait and wait until Ophelia informs us that I have to get on stage in five minutes. I look down at my feet and shuffle along, following the trail of Ophelia's magenta braids. She's added green beads to them.

Mags grabs the back of my blouse and points when I turn around. I follow her finger until I see him.

Finnick.

Before I can even register what's happening, I feel my feet moving across the floor, sending me flying in his direction. I call his name. I see him notice me. I watch his face light up with pure happiness. And that's when I know.

Finnick still loves me, just as much as I love him. Even if I am mad.

He catches me when I jump into his arms. I bury my face in his shirt, relishing his warmth. I can feel his face burrowing in my hair, kissing every part of me he can. When he finally finds my lips, it's the happiest I've felt since the start of this whole disaster. For the first time since the Hunger Games began, I feel tears welling up in my eyes.

Finnick hugs me again, this time putting his lips at my ear. "Don't cry, Annie. Please don't cry."

Ophelia taps my shoulder. "Sorry to interrupt, but you need to be on stage in two minutes! Let's go!"

I let go of Finnick unwillingly and follow her to the pad, similar to -

I step on, knowing that this one will not lead me to my death.

"Thank goodness Maya used waterproof," Ophelia says, licking her thumb and adjusting my make up. I wrinkle my nose, but tolerate it.

The plate is lifting me up then, onto the stage. The auditorium is filled with thousands of colorful people, so many people that I have to blink. Caesar Flickerman is there, cracking a few warm up jokes. The people see me and roar. I wince at the sudden sound, not used to such an outrageous volume.

There is a throne in the center of the stage. I guess I'm supposed to sit there.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," Caesar announces after I've sat down. "Give a round of applause to our very own President Snow!"

The President comes on stage, followed by a boy carrying the victor's crown on a red velvet pillow with gold trim. The President is an average looking man with obviously surgically altered facial features. His cheeks are tight and have a slightly shiny quality to them, and his lips are big and puffy-looking. What he should really fix are his snake-like eyes; they could stand to be nicer.

He gives me a fake smile and kisses me on both cheeks. I am automatically disgusted and almost flinch away. He lifts the crown from the pillow and places it on my head. Again, the crowd roars.

President Snow says a few words, none of which are directed at me. I don't really pay attention. I notice when he hands the microphone back to Ceasar and retreats to the corner of the stage, watching. No one in the audience can see him.

I know that before the interviews even start, I must watch a video of the deaths. Panic is rising in me, frantic waves of chaos. No, no, no.

Caesar directs everyones attention to the television. They replay all the deaths and other important events in the Games. The first day at the Cornucopia, which I watch silently. Arthor sneaking away from the Careers. The people the Careers killed. Kur's death. Zona's death. Penelope's death. I sit and watch them, trembling. I don't know how much more I can watch.

Then, it's Quincy's death. The earthquake, the tree falling down, the -

The -

The head -

My feet -

I grip the edge of the throne. The President is watching.

The next part is even more horrifying, if that's possible. I watch myself lunge at Arthor on the television, I watch myself (is that really me?) take him down, kicking and screaming and scratching. I watch as I stab him, again and again, until I am soaked red with blood. So much blood. So much death.

What have I become?

What have we become?

A cannon shot sounds.

And I am running, running, running...

Running through the right exit of the stage.

Someone catches me and stops me right in my tracks. It's Arthor, coming back to get me and finish me off like last time. He's not really dead. He's alive, and he's going to kill me. He's going to win the Hunger Games. I start screaming.

"Annie! Annie, it's me!" Finnick's face floods my vision. I become limp with relief. Finnick. He's come to save me. I throw my arms around his waist and hide my face. I don't want to see death anymore.

I hear footsteps, people rushing after me.

"What is she doing? Get her back out there!" someone says. I feel someone put their hand on my shoulder, dragging me back on stage. Finnick pushes their hand away.

"Can't you see she's upset? She's had enough," he snaps. His voice is a deep rumble next to my ear.

"We can't just cancel the interview!"

"I'm afraid it seems that's what we must do," someone else murmurs. I recognize the voice as President Snow's and shudder. This is all his fault.

"Hush, Annie," Finnick breathes, just loud enough for me to hear. Did I say that out loud?

"Miss Cresta is obviously in no condition to carry out the rest of the interview, don't you agree Dr. Greenswilsh?" Snow continues. There is a third speaker, Dr. Greenswilsh.

"I'm afraid so. It's quite astonishing. She was making fantastic progress."

"Well, her brother's death must have been traumatizing," Snow says slyly. "What do you propose is best for her?"

"I don't think she should continue the interview," Dr. Greenswilsh says.

"Yes, but do you think she should still go back to her district? Or should she stay here longer?"

Finnick tenses.

"Perhaps she should stay here for a few more months..."

I wheel around, shocked. "No! I want to go home!"

"Well, with all due respect Annie," Dr. Greenswilsh says. "I don't think you're in any condition to decide for yourself where and where you do not go."

"Doctor," Finnick intervenes. "Don't you think that going back to District Four would be therapeutic for her? A familiar place where she can get her life back together and she'll have family and friends to support her? Where she can forget about the traumatic events of the Hunger Games?"

"The boy makes a valid point," the President says. "But what about the Victory Tour?"

"If she's too unwell to participate, then I'll go in her place," Finnick promises.

The President thinks it over. "Yes, that would be acceptable. Very well. Doctor, why don't you have one last session with Miss Cresta, then she and Mr. Odair can leave for District Four tomorrow morning."

"Yes, President," Dr. Greenswilsh says. President Snow walks back onstage, to tell the crowd I presume.

"Annie, would you like to come with me to my office?" Dr. Greenswilsh suggests, flipping through the papers on his clipboard. "You can stay in the same room and then be on your way tomorrow. You may come to the hospital too, if you wish Mr. Odair, though I'm afraid you can't sit in on our session."

"Sure, and feel free to call me Finnick."

Finnick takes my hand and leads me away from the scene. As we walk, a sudden horror washes through me. Though I had a melt down in front of the audience, I still didn't give the Capitol citizens what they wanted. The President must realize this, everyone must realize this. I failed at the most important aspect of the Hunger Games: pleasing the Capitolites.

So what happens now?

* * *

**Weeeell, what did you think? I let my friend borrow my copy of the _Hunger Games_, so I couldn't follow the interview's procedure step-by-step. However, I think I did an okay job. I'm not sure though: does Caesar ask the questions and _then_ do they watch the video? Or is it the other way around? I'm not entirely sure. **

**~Smurf **


	17. The Capitol: Secrets

**You can probably guess by the title...**

* * *

**T**he **C**apitol - **S**ecrets

* * *

Dr. Greenswilsh's schedule is full, but since we aren't leaving until noon tomorrow he says that I can come at our usual time before I depart. He also gives me his phone number and says that I can call him at any time. I go to throw the little slip of paper away after he leaves, but Finnick snatches it from my hand and sticks it in his pocket. "You never know," he comments, shrugging.

I suppose that's true, but I still don't think I'm going to call Dr. Greenswilsh any time soon.

My room hasn't been reassigned yet, so I'm using it for the night. Before Finnick and I leave for the hospital, President Snow asks Finnick to talk with him. I watch them anxiously from across the backstage area. Snow looks strangely smug; Finnick is expressionless. This scares me. It reminds me of Arthor in the arena, when his face became robotic. Killing is, was, his job...but I never thought to ask what exactly the job was. Now that I think about it clearly, I don't believe I really want to know.

"Annie?" Finnick says, shaking my shoulder slightly. I blink. Snow is walking through the heavy red curtains onto the stage. Their conversation must have ended a while ago.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yes, I'm fine. It's nothing to worry about," I reply.

I don't ask him what the conversation was about, but he must sense my curiosity because he says, "I have to tell you something, Annie."

I stay silent. I don't like the way his voice dropped to barely a whisper. I don't like the look in his eyes. I can tell that whatever he wants to say is important and it's going to be hard for him to say it. Clearly, it's a secret. The question is, what secret would President Snow and Finnick have?

"I can't tell you here. I'll tell you in the car, okay?"

"Yes..."

But when we get to the car, he still doesn't say anything. We are both silent for the entire ride. It's when we get out of the car, but before it drives away, that he speaks.

"We can't be so...affectionate anymore, Annie," he begins. "At least not in public."

My eyebrows shoot up. This is so far from what I was expecting that it takes me a second to comprehend what he's actually trying to convey. Then all I can do is stand there and try to breathe.

Finnick catches my expression and jumps. "Annie? What's wrong?"

"Is it because I'm mad?" I sob, on the verge of tears. "This has nothing to do with the President, does it? You don't want to be seen with me because I'm crazy."

"What? Annie that's - "

"But you don't want to leave, because then you'll feel guilty that you left a crazy person on her own. Two weeks ago I would've let you go, but I don't think that I can - that I can - "

"Stop, Annie - "

"I don't think I can face them alone!" I cry, wiping tears from my face. I can feel the anxiety and panic clutching me, suffocating me. "Please, please don't make me go to them without Quincy. I made them all a promise that I would bring him back, and I failed! I need you with me, so that I can tell them the truth! So that I can tell them that, deep down inside, I wanted to win. There were times when I wanted to win!"

Before I know it, Finnick has pulled me into his embrace. And I'm too weak to reject him, to tell him to leave if he doesn't want me the way I am. I cling to him, because, right now, he's the only thing I have to cling to. "I'm a horrible person. I didn't deserve to win."

"When I was in the arena, I killed five people with my trident," Finnick says. "I killed another person with a knife, and one other by strangling them with my own hands. I killed seven children without even blinking."

I squeeze my eyes shut. I don't want to hear about these things.

"I'm the bad person, Annie, not you," he finishes.

"I killed someone too," I whisper.

"And here you are, torn apart by that. You feel remorse."

"I laughed when I killed him."

Finnick is silent. After another second, he lets me go. "I'm not guilty or ashamed by you; don't ever think that. I can't be with you like this in public because it's the President's orders."

"Huh?" I say stupidly. Part of me is relieved, but I'm mostly confused. "Why would President Snow care?"

"_That _is a conversation for another time," Finnick says, giving me a small smile. He takes my hand leads me to the hospital.

The nurses don't allow Finnick into my room. It's against hospital policy, apparently. Finnick smiles politely and willingly agrees, settling with a hug and, when no one's looking, a quick kiss on my cheek.

"I'll be right out here," he says, gesturing to the lavish lobby.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to..." I reply, looking at the small (albeit, comfy) chairs in the lobby.

He smiles. "I want to. Goodnight, Annie."

"Night, Finnick." I return his smile before closing the door. I turn around and lean against it, looking at my white room. With a sigh, I crawl into bed and snuggle against the grey blanket.

* * *

I wake up to a sound.

I can tell it's night time by the low activity coming from the lobby. There are few shadows sweeping across the blinds of the wide window and the lights to my room (which shut off at nine o'clock automatically) are off, leaving me swathed in darkness.

I hear the sound again, just on the barriers of my earshot. Steadily, gradually, it gets louder.

It's whispers. Sitting up on my elbows, I struggle to make out the words.

"It's all your fault...All your fault...Your fault..."

My breathing stops. That's my voice.

"You killed him...Killed him..."

I don't have to ask who "he" is.

"They hate you...Hate you..."

The voices get louder.

"Just die...die...DIE!"

These voices over lap and consume each other. Each is a different voice, accusing me of what I have done. My mother's weeping, my father's accusing, Finnick's screams, Quincy's screams, Arthor's screams, my screams. They harmonize into a terrifying chorus of words, of sounds, of whispers. Then there are sounds. Footsteps hitting the ground, blood gushing from a wound, the very earth itself cracking and breaking. I look around frantically for the source, but I find nothing, I find no one. It's just me.

Me. Alone. Hearing voices.

I really am crazy.

Panic sets in. Fear floods through me. I scream and repeatedly hit the blinking green button that alerts the nurses. I thrash about, trying to stop the sounds. I cover my ears and scream louder. I'm no longer in a dark hospital room, alone, hearing voices. I'm in the Hunger Games arena, with twenty-four children, hearing truths.

A tribute bursts in the cave, wielding one of the thinnest blades I've ever seen. By the bright light coming through the square cave entrance, I can tell it's a girl. Sleek black hair in a tight bun. It must be Zona.

I search for a weapon and find nothing. More tributes are piling in. There is only one escape, through the door of the cave, where they are all coming from. I have no weapon but my body.

Kur reaches for me.

I scream once more and charge into him. He's obviously not expecting me to be so bold, and he falls to the ground. Evee tackles me (Evee? I thought she was on my side?) and I copy Kur and snap my head back. I hear a satisfying crunch and Evee falls. That's what she gets. Traitor.

But wait. Where's Quincy?

"QUINCY!" I call. "QUINCY!"

No one replies. Quincy must be on guard, outside, fighting Opal or Arthor. He can't be -

I sprint to the cave opening. Just a few more strides and -

Someone catches me and holds me firmly. I scream Quincy's name again and kick and scratch. I hear someone calling my name. Quincy! He must be on his way to save me from Arthor! Arthor's come back to get us.

"Annie!" It's not Quincy's face that I see. It's Finnick's.

I'm in the lobby of the hospital. Finnick has me, not Arthor. I'm not in the Hunger Games. The Hunger Games are over. Quincy's -

I fall limp and lay my head on Finnick's shoulder, sobbing. The black-haired nurse steps forward to poke me with the needle, not a knife. Finnick slaps her hand away and scowls. "She doesn't need that. She must have just had a nightmare."

"N-no. I-it wasn't a nightmare," I start.

Finnick hushes me. "Yes it was, Annie. None of that was real."

_Even the voices? _I think. Surely that must have been real. But none of the nurses seemed to have heard anything. Finnick scoops me up and brings me back into the room. He sits by my side.

"I'll stay here," he promises, taking my hand.

"Mr. Odair, you can't do that," one of the nurses says. "She's deranged and it's against hospital policy - "

"_Deranged_?" Finnick growls. "She is not deranged. Nor is she an animal, so put that needle away. She just had a nightmare, and if you'd seen the things she's seen, you'd have nightmares like that too."

"But the policy - "

"Do I look like I give a damn about the policy?" Finnick shouts. The nurse shakes his head and leaves, followed by the others. I would too, probably. Finnick does look rather frightening.

"It wasn't a nightmare," I say.

"Yes, it was Annie," Finnick whispers, laying next to me. "Whatever you saw, it was fake. There's nothing to be afraid of. It's over."

I open my mouth to object, but then close it again. Finnick could be right. The voices could have been part of a dream.

But something tells me they weren't.

So, I change the subject. "Finnick, can I ask you something?"

"Yes, anything."

"Why does the President care about us being together in public?"

Finnick sighs. "That's probably the worst question you could have asked."

"Please answer. I really want to know," I say. And it's true, I do.

"Okay," Finnick says after a really long time. I look at his face and shiver. There is a sadness and a fear I don't quite understand. I don't have any time to dwell over it. He begins his story. He tells his secret.

"When I won my Hunger Games, I was fourteen. Even then, everyone had their eye on me." He winks, a weak attempt at humor. "But it was very indecent for anyone to even think about going after me. But when I turned sixteen, I was fair game. Everyone at every age wanted to get their hands on me for a night."

I blush uncomfortably. Finnick continues.

"The President saw this as an...advantage, politically. Several of his enemies wanted me, but there was no way I would even consider them. I wanted to stay in District Four and live in comfort, with a normal person for me to love." He pauses again.

"So President Snow saw fit to take action. He threatened to starve and bomb and shoot the people of District Four if I didn't do exactly what he said. I had no choice but to agree to his wishes. If I didn't, then everyone I ever came in contact with would be in danger. Even people I didn't know would be killed. I think you can guess what he wanted from me."

I have nothing to say. Finnick takes a deep breath.

"I was forced to flirt and...fraternize with every woman who had valuable information or connections. Then, when they were at their most vunerable, they would tell me their deepest secrets. I would report them back to President Snow. You can see now, why I can't be with you in public. If word were to reach the women back at the Capitol, one of the President's most important sources of information would be gone for good and District Four would be a living hell."

There is dead silence in the room. I'm processing what Finnick has just told me. I knew the President was bad but...how could he sink so low? How could he force Finnick to do something so...so...horrible? Finnick's been with several women, but none of them were his choice. And, although he's nineteen now, he was sixteen (my age) when this all started. It's so sad, so sad. Poor Finnick.

But it's not over. He still has to abide by the President's orders. He still has to go to all those women's beds, listen to their whispered secrets, report them back to Snow. He still has to do stuff he doesn't want to do, with people he doesn't want to be with.

"Annie," Finnick says, obviously following where my thoughts are going. "None of those people mean anything to me, and none of them will. No matter how many times I go to the Capitol, I promise that I will always come back and I will always be yours. Always."

I smile through my tears and kiss him. "Always."

Then we lay there in the dark, silent. After a while, Finnick's breathing becomes slow and even. But I'm still awake, wrapped in his arms, unable to sleep. Even though I hear no more voices, their words haunt me into the night. And now that Finnick's here with me, so real and so warm, I am certain of one thing. The voices I heard, the voices that echo through my mind, were not a nightmare. They were as real as the man sleeping by my side.

So why can no one else hear them?

* * *

**Okay, before you freak out about the whole "voices" thing, let me just say that things are not what they seem. Wait until you read the next chapter before you make any judgements such as: **

**"Just because Annie's crazy doesn't mean she has to hear voices!"**

**Or:**

**"It never said she heard voices in the book!" **

**Or something along those lines. Please, wait until you read the next chapter. Then everything will become clear... *cue mysterious theme music* o.O **

**~Smurf **


	18. The Train: Voices

**Okay, now you get your explanation regarding the "voices". Enjoy! :)**

* * *

**T**he **T**rain - **V**oices

* * *

In the therapy session I don't tell Dr. Greenswilsh about the voices, though he has already heard about my "nightmare". When he asks what it was about, I say I don't remember. I only remember being terrified. He assumes that it's just an aftershock from the interview and declares me stable enough to be released.

Maya lays out a simple black sleeveless top and a dark grey skirt with small blank dots that brushes the floor. I leave my hair down this time and step into a pair of boots, though Maya gives me a disapproving look when I hand him his strappy silver sandals.

As we are getting ready to depart, I feel like spun glass, ready to shatter at any moment. I think it's the voices I heard. I've not had any other encounters, but I'm frightened that I will have another episode in front of the cameras. Then will I be forced to stay? I don't know.

When we board the train, there are still a fair amount of Capitol citizens cheering and shouting. I guess, to them, a Hunger Games winner is a Hunger Games winner, no matter what their condition. Half of the hollering, however, is for Finnick.

We will be staying on the train over night and arriving in District Four by the morning. I feel the knots of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. What will everyone think? What will everyone say? About me, the sister who broke her promise. Now that I think about it, the whole "honesty" bit completely blew up in my face, particularly the part about my promise to Tally. I'm just glad Finnick will be there to walk me through it all.

I don't have much to do on the train, so I end up wandering around until dinner. Finnick and Ophelia are busy with the preparations for my homecoming, but I do run into Mags, who I've seen but I haven't spoken with in a while. She's sitting on a chair, happily fiddling with a bit of wire. I sit beside her and silently watch.

It doesn't seem to be anything at first, the twists and angles having no purpose, but soon I see what she's doing. The bit of wire becomes a work of art. It has no definite shape or form, but it's beautiful. I gasp when she sticks out her hand for me to see.

"Wow, Mags. That's amazing," I praise.

Mags gives me her toothless grin. "Shaky hands. It's getting harder."

"Where did you learn how to do that?" I inquire.

"Lots of free time," she says simply. "You will too. I can show you, if you want."

Now that she mentions it, I realize that I will have a lot of free time. My family and I won't have to fish anymore, because we'll have enough money to buy anything we want. I do believe though, that we'll still sail. There's no way my father will ever stop sailing.

Maybe he'll let me on his boat still. Or maybe he won't.

Mags instructs me for an hour or two. It's quite interesting to see the slim piece of wire become a delicate sculpture right before your eyes. Mine is not nearly as intricate as hers, though. She also shows me how to make a fish hook with the wire. Mags, apparently, really likes to fish on the docks. Honestly, I never would've guessed. It would explain her patience.

We are called down for dinner soon. I'm not allowed a lot of food, because it is much richer than the stuff at the hospital. I get a small portion of soup, some paper-thin slices of roast beef, a spoon full of small, round potatoes covered in gravy, and a buttery roll. As we eat, Finnick clears his throat for an announcement.

"I just got a message from District Four," he says. "It seems that Quincy's remains just arrived."

I stop eating.

Finnick continues, watching me warily. "They want to have the funeral the day you get home. Traditional District Four style."

Traditional District Four style is to cremate the body and spread the ashes out on the sea. Normally it's held on the beach so everyone can attend, but I think Quincy would want something different.

"Can we have it on our boat?" I ask quietly. Everyone in the room is staring at me.

"We'll have to ask your father, but I'm sure that is fine," Finnick reassures. Mags puts a hand on my shoulder and I realize that I'm shaking. Quite violently. The food I just consumed threatens to make a reappearance. I excuse myself from the table and exile myself to my room.

* * *

No one knocks on my door. After I change and crawl into bed, I find it surprisingly easy to sleep. Perhaps it's because of my lack of rest last night.

I don't get to sleep for long. During the middle of the night, I find myself sitting up on my elbows. I think I hear something, but I'm not sure. Then I hear it again. Just barely.

"It's all your fault...all your fault...your fault..."

Pure dread turns my blood cold. The voices are back.

This time there is no gradual increase in volume. It's like an explosion, suddenly a thousand sounds grating against my ears, buzzing through my mind. I hear my name being screamed and whispered. A cannon shot. The clash of blades. And again, the rumbling of an earthquake. I think I even feel the bed shaking beneath me. The dark gets darker. I can't see anything, I can't hear anything but white noise. What's going on? Where am I?

I'm gasping for breath, like I'm drowning. Drowning. I was supposed to drown, wasn't I? Like the little black ant?

The darkness is suffocating. Not just the darkness of the room, but the darkness inside me, scratching and clawing up my throat. I can't scream. I'm paralyzed with fear.

Suddenly, all noise stops. Then, there is just President Snow's voice ringing throughout the room, clear as a bell. Yet, at the same time, it also seems like he's whispering it in my ear, just loud enough for me. Right next to me, his hot breath coiling around my skin.

"Tell them the truth, Annie. Tell them all the truth."

That's when I start screaming.

I scream and thrash. The weight of the blanket is heavy, much heavier than it should be. Has the President sent Arthor to assassinate me? That's his job, right?

I burst out of the bed and shoot towards the door, still screaming my head off. I try the knob, but it wants to turn the other way. I'm locked in, locked in for life. I kick the door with my bare foot and hit it and punch it. Then I frantically try the knob again.

The door swings open and I run right into Finnick.

I can tell it's Finnick this time because the light on the corridor of the train is on. His hair is tousled and he is in his pajamas. He looks like he just leaped out of bed; which, you know, he probably did. Everyone on the train must have heard me screaming.

"Annie? What's wrong?" he demands, flicking on the light to my room and searching around. But of course there is nothing.

"Nightmare," I gasp. For some reason President Snow's voice echoes in my head: _Tell them the truth, Annie. Tell them all the truth_.

Finnick raises an eyebrow. I imagine how I must look right now: deranged, like an animal. Wide eyed, covered in cold sweat. Horrified, like I've just seen a ghost. Other people are coming to my door to see about the commotion. Finnick shoos them away and closes the door in their faces.

"I'll stay with you again," he says.

"Finnick," I begin. "It wasn't a nightmare."

"Yes it was, Annie," he says. "Whatever you saw - "

"It's now what I saw, it's what I heard!" I cry. "Finnick...I think...I'm hearing voices."

Finnick stares at me. "What kind of voices?"

"The kind that no one else hears, or has ever heard," I sniff. "That's what spooked me at the hospital too. I didn't want to tell you because...well, I'm hearing voices. I'm really insane now."

I put my face in my hands. I feel so helpless, so pitiful. This isn't something I can fight with my fists. Whatever this is, it's inside me. And I'm afraid it's here to stay.

"Did the voices bother you when I was there?" he asks.

"No."

Finnick holds out his arms. "Come here, then."

I go to him without hesitation. I don't think I can handle this alone. I need someone. Someone who can understand. Someone stronger than me. Finnick is perfect, for me at least. He's done the things I have, been through so much more than me, but he still has the power to continue on. To survive with his sanity. Me, I'm barely hanging on. If it wasn't for him, I'm not sure I would still be trying.

"You said that the first time you heard these voices was last night?" he asks.

"Yes...Finnick, please stop. I really don't want to talk about this," I mumble.

"Okay," Finnick says with what seems to be a slightly mischievous tone. "Then we won't talk."

He backs me up until my knees are bumping the bed. Then he continues to lean forward, until I'm forced to flop down on the mattress. He puts his hands on either side of my face, grinning down at me.

"What are you doing?" I ask in monotone.

"Not talking," he replies. He leans down until his lips are brushing my throat, teeth gently grazing my skin. My breathing excellerates. He's obviously aiming to distract me from my problems for a little while. And he's doing a very good job at it.

"Taking advantage of a lady at her moment of weakness," I breathe. "I really thought better of you, Odair."

"Annie, you must stop destroying my romantic thunder like this," he teases. But I feel him hesitate.

I roll my eyes. I'm enjoying this banter; it makes me feel almost normal, like before. "You do that on your own. What happened to not talking?"

He grins again and kisses me. It occurs to me that we haven't really had that much time alone, and we probably won't; not like this. On the other hand, I really should be trying to sort out my mental faculties. But right now, Finnick is not making thinking any easier.

I guess I'll have plenty of time for thinking later.

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, Finnick is not beside me like he was when he eventually convinced me to get some sleep. Confused, I sit up and look around the room. There, bathed in the river of morning sunshine coming from the window, the back of his bronze head sparkling, is Finnick.

Digging around in the vent in the wall.

"What are you doing?" I say, breaking the still quiet of the morning and startling Finnick, causing him to bump his head on the top edge of the air duct. He winces and rubs the back of his head, climbing down from the chair on which he is standing on. He turns and smiles at me.

"I've got good news!" he exclaims, replacing the grating of the vent.

"What is it?" I ask, curious as to what kind of good news one can find from an air duct.

"The voices you're hearing; they aren't in your head." Finnick pokes the side of my cranium for good measure.

I stare up at him, dazed. "What?"

"These are where the voices are coming from," he replies, holding up an object that looks like a little black seed. He holds out his hand, revealing at least ten more.

I take one and inspect it. "What are these?"

"I'm not sure, but I know that they're the cause of your voices. Look closely at the surface," he says. I do, squinting at the little ridges.

"It looks like...the top of a microphone," I conjure.

"Exactly," Finnick agrees. "I think that the sounds you're hearing were recorded, edited, and then put in these little voice recorders. Then someone hid them in your rooms and turned them on somehow. I'm guessing radio waves, like the kind they use for radios on the Capitol's boats back home."

"Why would someone want that?" I inquire, partially to myself.

"Someone wants to convince me that you've gone completely mad," Finnick says carefully. By the way he says 'someone', I'm certain he means President Snow. This does make sense. Not only does he have the means to do such a thing, but he also has motive and he's the only person off the top of my head that I think is capable of doing it. He had someone plant these in my room so I would go on a rampage and Finnick would think I'm crazy, therefore lowering the chances of destroying his precious information source.

But why didn't he just order Finnick to stop seeing me? Or, more likely, what did Finnick say to convince him otherwise? The only answer I can come up with is that Finnick threatened to stop seeing those women. I suppose the President thought that his source was more important than a rumor floating around the Capitol.

But I'm sure that he will exstract some horrible revenge somehow.

I don't say this. I'm sure Finnick knows the consequences of his actions, and thought it was worth the risk. He thought I was worth the risk. And he doesn't need to be reminded of what is surely going to happen. So instead of bringing both of us down, I smile at him with all the relief I can muster, which is a great amount. I'm not hearing voices!

Finnick smiles back and leans down to kiss me, but Ophelia gives the door a sharp knock and tells us that we've just arrived in District Four. He sighs and makes a face at the door. "I suppose we better go eat breakfast."

"I need to get dressed," I say, gesturing to my night gown. Finnick raises an eyebrow. I scowl and push him towards the door. "Which means that _you _need to exit the premises."

Finnick gives me the same face he did Ophelia. "You're no fun."

"Go." I open the door and point outside.

"I would let you stay in my room," he pouts, shuffling into the hallway.

"I'm sure you would," I say, picking his shirt off the ground and handing it too him. And, since his sad face is so pitiful, I stand on my toes to give him a peck on the cheek. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me fiercely.

"The discretion starts now," he says, releasing me and walking down the hallway. "See you at breakfast!"

I close the door and smile to myself. My smile fades when I notice the microphones scattered on the table.

Ignoring them, I quickly change and head down for breakfast.

Ophelia, Mags, and Finnick are all at the table. I finish tying my hair into a ponytail and load my plate with food. When I sit down, I stare at it for a while then push it away. Eating is impossible. Soon I will see my family, my friends, walk on my beaches once more, the beaches I was never meant to see again. That all-to-familiar panic pushes the barriers of my mind. It clouds my thoughts, tangles them into a hopeless mess.

Finnick takes my hand under the table.

Mags gives me a reassuring smile.

Ophelia checks the time.

"Oh, dear!" she squeaks. "We should be getting ready to leave now! Hurry up with your food and meet me by the front exit."

No one bothers to eat anymore, and we all follow her to the front exit. The train stops. Out of the window I see my blue ocean and the sandy beaches and the sloping dunes, the squat little houses and the boats tied up on the dock. So familiar, yet so alien. Like another life.

The train doors open, and I march into the hardest part of the Hunger Games.

* * *

**See! So she never really heard voices. It was a trick. I thought it would be interesting to include. **

**Also, sorry if you thought the Finnick/Annie scene was a little weak (or if you thought it was too explicit). I was going to make it A LOT longer, but after I read it I was nervous about how readers would take it, so I edited. I always kind of saw Annie and Finnick as the sort of childish, innocent couple anyway. The more explicit version didn't really suit the story.**

**I published twice in one week! :D **

**~Smurf **


	19. District Four: The Funeral

**Sorry for the delay on this chapter. Blame the pressures of education!**

* * *

**D**istrict **F**our -** T**he **F**uneral

* * *

There is no reason why I shouldn't want to see my family after two weeks of pure torture. In fact, it should be the first thing I want to do.

Then why did I run away?

I made it all the way to Victor's Village. As we stepped onto the stone walkway that separates the town from the Village, the anxiety and fear and caution all exploded inside of me. I ran and ran, as far away as I possibly could, leaving Finnick and Mags calling my name.

I am now sitting on a dock, my feet swinging over the edge. The only thing that's missing is Quincy by my side. But right now, Quincy is inside a jar, waiting to be scattered out to sea.

I shudder and push that thought from my mind. But it keeps poking it's way back up, until I pull my knees up to my chin and start sobbing. Finnick and Mags must be so disappointed in me. All this time and I can't even scrape up the courage to face my own parents.

I hear footsteps on the dock. The stop a few feet away from me. I don't look up to see who it is.

"Everyone's looking for you, you know," says Tally.

When I hear her I do look up. Fear is rising inside of me, but this time the only escape is the blue-green ocean beneath me. But maybe that is for the best. I was supposed to drown, wasn't I?

Tammy is in the traditional funeral clothes, which only makes me feel worse. On funeral days, the people close to the deceased wear shirts with high collars and long sleeves, as well as long pants for the men and long skirts for the women. Most of the time the color is grey; the color of sadness.

She walks across the dock and sits next to me, arranging her skirt as she sits down. I wait for her to speak. I don't have the right to speak in front of her, the one whose love I have taken.

There is a long silence. Then Tally says, "It's not your fault."

I'm silent.

"I'm serious," she continues, taking my hand. "I don't blame you. No one does. You tried to keep him alive, but - "

" - But I failed. I broke my promise," I interrupt bitterly.

"Annie, that's not the kind of promise you can swear to keep," Tally counters. "There was nothing you could do."

"How can you say that?" I yell. "I shouldn't have left him down there by himself! We could have kept on walking! We should have! Or, I could have done something instead of sitting there like a complete idiot and watching them fight. Or I could have just prevented the whole thing by not partnering up with Arthor in the first place! This was _all_ my fault!"

I put my head in my hands and breathe deeply. I thought Tally would be the one doing the shouting, not me.

"This was not your fault," Tally says sternly. She takes my shoulders and forces me to look at her. "Annie, this was not your fault, do you understand me? None of this is your fault. We both know whose fault this is."

I blink, shocked. If anyone from the Capitol heard her right now, it would be obvious that she's talking about the President, the one who established the Hunger Games in the first place. And surely she must know that there are cameras and microphones on the docks.

So I say, "Arthor's. This was Arthor's fault."

"Right," Tally says, realizing her mistake. "Arthor's fault."

There is another long silence. I think about what Tally has told me; no one thinks it's my fault. No one blames me. Finnick has told me time and time again this very thing, but it's never given me any relief. Not like now. It seems like a huge wieght has been lifted from my shoulders.

Well, almost.

I stand and help Tally up. "Come on. It's time to go to the funeral."

We walk down the dock side-by-side. Now, I can face my family. Now I am not alone.

* * *

"Finnick, you don't have to come," I say. We are getting ready for the funeral at my new home. When Tally and I arrived at Victor's Village, Finnick and Mags informed us that my parents had already left to make preparations for the funeral. I can't talk to them until we get there.

"I'm not just coming for you, Annie," he replies, gently dragging a brush through my hair. "I knew Quincy too."

"Yeah, I guess," I say.

Finnick gives me a nod and finishes my hair, putting it up in a ponytail. "There. Now, let's go before the boat sets sail."

We walk to the docks. There are people grouped there together, dressed in grey with solemn faces. When they see me, they bow respectfully and mutter condolences. I scoot closer to Finnick. Being put on the spot like this...I don't like it.

The people make a path for me. There, standing on the boat, are my parents. My mother seems to have aged twenty years. Her hair is streaked with grey, and her face has a permanent sadness to it. As for my father, he is like a stone. Cold and obsolete.

Mother sees me first. Her face is the very essence of shock. Did she really not expect me to come? I'm hesitant. I don't know how she will take me coming back. It seems like forever ago that I walked along the beaches with her. I'm not the same Annie I was before. I'm different now. Everything is different now.

She tugs on my father's sleeve. He, too, also expresses a look of surprise. They don't make any move towards me. So, I take a deep breath, let go of Finnick's hand, and take the first step. And then the second. The third. With each step my chest tightens, and the lump in my throat gets bigger. With each step it's harder not to turn back and run away.

Just as the toe of my shoe hits the wood of the dock, the boat on which my family is standing explodes.

I hear Finnick calling my name before I am thrown back into the sand by a powerful force. I can feel that I am burned, or that I'm burning. I gasp for the air which the heat from the explosion has snatched away. Each breath sears my throat and my nose. But I'm still breathing.

What about my parents?

I get to my feet, then fall. I am weak and burnt and feel like I've just fallen from a five story building. But I still see the damage.

My father's boat is on fire, along with half the dock. People are screaming and running to shore, jumping into the ocean, doing anything they can to escape the flames. The boat is enveloped in flames; it looks like a big fireball. Slowly, it sinks into the ocean. People are rushing past me in a desperate attempt to escape. As for me, I am frozen on the ground. My mother, my father, Tally; they were all on that boat. Nearly everyone that cared for Quincy was on that boat. Everyone that I cared about was on _that boat_.

I can feel myself cracking, breaking, shattering. Is this it? Am I finally done living? I was supposed to drown, you know. I'm making fists in the sand, grasping it so hard that I'm getting small cuts on my palms. It doesn't matter how hard I hold on though; the sand always slips through my fingers. I have nothing to hold on to. No one to live for anymore.

It is then that I feel Finnick's arms around me, picking me up and carrying me away from the wreckage. He's there to hold on to, to grasp. I clutch him as tightly as I can, in order to prevent him from slipping away like the sand. Quite frankly, I'm afraid that Finnick is the only thing I have left. Right now, I feel so incredibly helpless, like when I was falling down that enormous pit with nothing to grab hold of. So, like then, I do the only thing I am capable of doing.

I scream.

* * *

As I sit in the infirmary, letting one of the busy nurses patch me up, I listen to the report. Already, twelve people have been reported dead. This includes my father, Tally, and half of our friends and relatives. There are twenty-seven injured, including me, Finnick, and also my mother. Finnick and I only have minor burns. My mother is in critical care. Doctors say that the only reason she survived the blast is because something was shielding her. I'm guessing that that "something" was my father's body.

People aren't really sure what happened. The boat was inspected by Peacekeepers before setting sail (as it always is) and everyone got on. There had been no sign of any bomb, at least not according to the Peacekeeper's reports. Everything was as it should be and then, just, boom.

But I know the truth.

And so does Finnick.

This is what you call the President's revenge.

That device was specifically programed to recognize my stride and go off as soon as my foot hit the wood of the dock. Finnick has explained this to me, although I don't see how there can possibly be such a thing.

Even now, Finnick is livid. We both saw some kind of wrath on the horizon, but neither of us thought that it would be so devistating. I would take one hundred Hunger Games rather than this pain.

"This breaks the deal!" Finnick growls. "I'm not following that - that _thing's_ orders anymore! "

A sudden terror shoots through me. I latch onto his arm and stop him in the midst of his angry pacing. "NO! Finnick, you have to do what he says!"

"Annie, he just _killed_ your _family_!" Finnick shouts. "And you want me to go on pretending like nothing happened?"

I wince and look down. "I don't think I can lose you too. If you tell the President 'no', then he'll kill you, he'll kill me; he'll kill everybody. And I'm so sick and tired of death. I don't think I can handle anymore."

Finnick's expression softens. "Okay. I won't do anything."

"Thank you," I say.

"How are you doing with...everything?" he asks hesitantly.

"I don't know," I say. "I'm kind of...scrambled right now."

We stand in silence for a while. Finnick tubs his thumb across my hand soothingly. It doesn't do anything to calm me. I'm thinking about the boat sinking, the poor people on the dock, my father protecting my mother from the flame, Tally perishing with no one to protect her. All I can think is: why? Why does this happen to me?

The only thing I can come up with is this is fate's way of punishing me for something I've done. Killing my brother, perhaps.

_No, Annie_, I think. _That wasn't your fault, remember?_

Right. It was the President's fault.

Everything is the President's fault.

* * *

**This chapter is so sad. TT_TT **

**Sorry about the shortness of the chapter and the semi-crappy ending. I had trouble coming to a close with this chapter. **

**~Smurf **


	20. District Four: Healing

**I've gotten a review or two asking what exactly Snow is punishing Annie for. She basically caused Finnick to be defiant against the President's orders, so in return he killed her entire family. ****I know. He's a total seven-letter-word. **

**Anyway, I hope that cleared things up, for those of you that were confused. ^^ **

* * *

**D**istrict **F**our - **H**ealing

* * *

My mother comes home from the hospital today.

I've tried to make our big house in Victor's Village as homey as possible for her. I've put up curtains, pictures, even moved the old driftwood furniture from our old house into this one. But no matter what I do, it still feels so empty without the other half of our family. I don't really think that this house will ever really become a home.

Finnick visits almost every day for hours on end, helping me with the renovations. He helps me carry heavy furniture, hang pictures that are too high for me to reach, and such things. Mags comes over every once in a while too, and she once brings over a beautiful sea glass creation as a house warming gift. I hang it so that it's the first thing a person sees when they walk in.

Other tributes also visit. Haro Mutch is very elderly, and surprisingly funny. He has this special ability to make everybody laugh. I like him, and he visits fairly frequently, so I guess he enjoys my company too. Constance Truman is still hanging on, though she is in intensive care. She even has her own personal nurse, from what I hear. I haven't met her, but everyone agrees that she isn't very pleasant. Ore Sumy is a bit shy, so he doesn't come around very often. But he seems very nice; he even helped me carry in some of my father's old antique tridents when he saw I was having trouble. Nath tries to make an appearance, but Finnick threatens his life if he shows his face here again. He does manage to get in an apology before Finnick closes the door in his face. He doesn't seem very sorry, though.

I'm so busy with moving in, as well as meeting all these new people, that I don't get a chance to visit my mother often. Whenever I do visit, she's almost always asleep. I talk to her anyway. I'm not sure if she can hear me or not. I don't normally stay in the hospital very long. Too many bad memories, although this hospital is much different from the one in the Capitol. Still, it has the same atmosphere.

Finnick walks with me to the hospital. He's been glued to my side for the past couple days, because he's going to visit the Capitol soon. We both know what he's going to do when he gets there, and he seems to want to make up for it. Honestly, I don't see what he has to make up for. It's not his fault he has to go.

"Excited?" Finnick asks, gesturing to my shaking hands.

"Nervous," I correct him, folding my hands into fists.

"About what?"

"I don't know...everything."

Finnick takes my hand and slips his fingers between mine. "There's nothing to be nervous about."

"That doesn't change anything," I sigh, pulling my hand away as we reach the town. Finnick isn't as cautious about keeping our relationship a secret as he should be. The only people who are supposed to know are my mother and the other victors, but there are already rumors floating around District Four. If any one of those rumors were to reach the Capitol, I'm certain that the President wouldn't hesitate to blow District Four sky-high.

Finnick pouts and crosses his arms.

"Don't make that face," I say, rolling my eyes.

"What face?" Finnick mumbles.

I poke his cheek with my index finger. "That face."

He grabs my hand before I can pull away and presses his lips against my fingers. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"_Finnick_," I whisper, reclaiming my hand. "You really need to be more careful in public."

"What about in private?"

Again, I roll my eyes, but I don't answer. We enter the quiet hospital lobby, tell the receptionist about our arrival, and wait patiently for my mother. One of the good things about District Four: because of our exotic plant and animal life, we have better health care then most districts. The best health care out of all the districts, some say.

It seems like my mother is taking forever, even though I know it's not her fault. While I'm waiting, I tap my foot. Fiddle with the sleeves of my shirt. Flip through various reading material. Knock a tune from the wooden arms of the chair I'm sitting in. I can tell I'm annoying Finnick, but he has a lot more patience than I do.

I sigh. Then sigh again. Finnick glances at me and raises an eyebrow. "Annie, you realize it's only been five minutes, right?"

I groan and rest my chin on my fist. I'm not sure if I'm just impatient, or if it's the hospital, or if it's because I'm getting ready to greet my mother, but I can't seem to sit still. Finnick is perfectly motionless beside me, not saying a word. I can barely even hear him breathing. I glance over to make sure he didn't drop dead or something. His eyes are closed, and his head is tipped back against the wall. I try to focus on the rise and fall of his chest, but I don't notice anything. I know it's foolish, but I feel a tiny bit of panic surge through me. I shake his shoulder just to make sure.

"Finnick?"

"Yes?" he says, opening one green eye.

"Um...nothing," I reply, suddenly embarrassed. Finnick shrugs and closes his eyes once more. But he taps his foot, I'm guessing for my benefit. Maybe he knows that his stillness bothers me.

"Annie Cresta?" a nurse calls. I practically pop out of my seat.

"That's me," I say. The nurse nods and gestures behind her to another nurse, who wheels in my mother. She doesn't look as bad as she did in the hospital bed. Her legs are still bandaged up, but her face and arms look pretty good. She's starting to grow out her hair. But, sitting there in that wheelchair, she still looks terribly depressed. It makes me sad, just looking at her.

"She needs to walk at least one mile every day," the nurse instructs me. "I'll be coming over once a week to see how she's doing. Also, you might want to encourage her to do things around the house, like clean or cook. If she has a hobby, do that with her. Sitting around doing nothing won't do her well."

"Of course," I say. I remember that the worst part of therapy was sitting alone in my white room, with nothing to do but reflect on all the horrific things that got me there. I don't want the same for my mother.

The nurse looks me over curiously. "Are you sure you can handle this? She can stay here for a little while longer, just until she's fully - "

"She can handle it," Finnick says firmly. I look down at my shoes. People seem to think that, since I'm diagnosed with insanity, I'm incapable to do anything functionally. I'm honestly fine when it comes to most things. I don't really have a problem with people assuming I'm handycapped, but Finnick gets really hot and bothered by it.

I give the nurse a smile. "I'm sure we'll be fine."

"Okay," the nurse says, signing a sheet. Finnick and I walk out of the hospital with my mother. I try my best to hold conversation with her, but she doesn't reply to anything I say. So I'm quiet. Finnick doesn't say anything either.

When we arrive home, there is utter silence creeping over every surface. It only makes the house seem bigger, lonelier. Already I'm giving my mother a bad start on her way to recovery. And on mine.

"So..." I say, wincing as my voice echoes of the walls. "Are you hungry? Or...thirsty?"

"I'm tired," my mother murmurs, slowly getting out of the wheelchair. She shuffles down the hall and into her room. The solid thud of the closing door reverberates through the house.

"Okay...um, maybe we can go for a walk on the beach later? Or something..." I trail off and look down again. This was not how I imagined my mother's homecoming at all. I didn't think she'd be smiling and waving but...I didn't think she'd be like this.

"Do you want me to stay?" Finnick asks.

"No, you can go home if you want to," I sigh. "You have to pack anyway."

"Ugh, you're right," he says, shuddering. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me. "I'll see you later."

"Okay," I say, watching him walk out the door.

He looks back and grins when he sees me staring after him. "Are you _sure_ you want me to go?"

"Yes," I say, giving him a half-hearted shove out the door. "You need to pack for your trip."

Finnick grabs my waist and pulls me closer, kissing me once more. "Are you _sure_ you're sure?"

"Mmm...yes, I'm still sure."

"Annie, you really are crazy," he laughs, releasing me and stepping onto the porch.

"What?" I say, with a tiny note of hysteria. Finnick's never actually called me mad before.

"Refusing this body..." he says, shaking his head and gesturing down his physique.

I scoff and push him further out the door. "Go pack."

"Yes ma'am," he says, saluting me and taking the steps two at a time.

"Don't get lost on your way home!" I call after him. He gives a dismissive wave and jogs up the steps to his house, which is directly to the right of mine. I watch him open the door. He turns in my direction, sees me watching, and blows me a kiss. I roll my eyes and walk in my house.

I decide to check on my mother, but find that her door his locked. I frown and make a note to get a key to the outside of her door. I understand her need for privacy, but the nurse did say not to allow her to stay cooped up inside all day. And I can't do that if her door is locked all the time.

I sit on the couch and look around the spacious room. I take a deep breath. Then another one. It's too quiet. Electricity runs twenty-four hours a day in Victor's Village, so I turn on the television. There isn't anything I particularly care to watch, and it seems too loud. The TV quickly goes off.

With no further options, I decide to go to bed. I pass my mother's room on the way. I don't want to wake her up, but she should probably know where I am just in case she needs me. After a moment of hesitation, I knock on the door. "Mother? I'm going to bed."

No reply.

"Wake me up if you...you know, need anything. Okay?"

Still no answer.

"Okay," I whisper to myself, walking further down the hallway to my room. I nervously look back. Have my fears really come true? After all this time, after all these terrible happenings, does my own mother really hate me? The very thought makes my knees weak. I push the thought from my mind (I've been getting better at this) and get ready for bed.

* * *

_I'm walking through an endless tunnel; a dark rocky tunnel. It's pitch black and cold. Damp, too. My throat burns really bad, and my head hurts. I turn a corner down the winding corridor and see a blue dot of light. I start running, running, running, but I'm not getting any closer to the dot. My throat is killing me now, and my head feels numb. If that's possible._

_There is shaking all around me. It jars every bone in my body. I keep stumbling towards the light, my salvation. But it seems to be getting smaller now. I fall to my knees. I'll never get to the light._

_Suddenly, I'm blinded by blue light. I can't see anything. I can't move, I can't breathe. I'm spinning in every direction, going crazy. There is blood swirling all around me, mixed with the blue. I can taste it in my mouth. Where is all this blood coming from?_

_My throat is consumed in pain like I've never felt before._

_Then my head comes off._

I snap awake. I'm gasping for breath, and I'm drenched in cold sweat. I look around, but it's too dark to get my barrings. The room is still spinning. Before I know it, I'm bolting out of bed and tripping to the bathroom. I can still taste the blood in my mouth.

I don't even make it to the toilet. I have to bend over the tub as the remains of my dinner are retched from my stomach. When I finally settle down, I lean my cheek against the cool porcelain. I can't breathe.

The silence is suffocating.

My body reacts before my mind does. I'm running out of the room, down the hall, out the door, across the yard, and up the stairs to Finnick's house. Then I'm pounding on the door as hard and fast as I can with my fists, calling his name. The door opens several seconds after I've kept this up.

"Finnick!" I cry, overwhelmed with relief. I smash into him and wrap my arms around him tightly.

"Annie? What's wrong? Did something happen with your mother?" he inquires, pushing the damp hairs away from my face.

I gasp in horror. "My mother! I completely forgot about her!"

I turn to dash back to my house, but Finnick quickly grabs the back of my shirt. "Annie! First tell me what's going on."

I start sputtering details from my nightmare. It takes a second, but I can tell Finnick understands. He hushes me and walks back home with me. He takes me to my room, but I demand for him to check on my mother. The door is still locked, but Finnick picks it. My mother is sleeping in her bed. After my frantic suggestions, Finnick gently checks her pulse. She's not dead.

He takes me back to my room and makes me get a shower in a separate bathroom while he cleans out the tub. I find new pajamas on my bed and but them on. Even the sheets have been changed. When I ask Finnick why, he says the sheets were soaked in sweat.

He steers me back into the bathroom and forces me to brush my teeth. He asks me questions like "Did you hear voices again?" and "Have you had this nightmare before?" He even asks me if someone's been acting suspicious around me. I answer no to all of them.

Finally, after I insist that we check on my mother one last time, he comes to bed with me. I feel like a child, letting Finnick take care of me like this. But with his breathing beside me, it's not so silent. With his warmth next to me, it doesn't seem so dark. I'm going to miss him terribly when he leaves for the Capitol. But he'll be back. He promised me he will always come back.

And Finnick never breaks his promises.


	21. District Four: The First Travel

**Thank you to all the reviewers and those who have added this story to their favorites list. I'm happy that you all are enjoying my story, especially because I like writing so much. I strive to improve, so if you notice a grammatical/spelling error, or even if it's just something you don't like, please tell me so I can improve. Call it constructive criticism. Nobody's perfect, but I want to get as close as possible. :)**

* * *

**D**istrict** F**our -** T**he **F**irst **T**ravel

* * *

I had planned to get up early this morning to make my mother breakfast. Unfortunately, after my nightmare last night, I sleep in much later than I'd intended to. But when I wake up, I smell hot bread. Finnick is not beside me. I can only smile to myself.

I pad down the hallway to see if my mother is awake yet. I'm not expecting her to be, but when I walk into the kitchen I'm surprised to find that she and Finnick are chatting. My mother sits at the table and munches on bread covered in jam. She looks a lot better than she did yesterday. I wonder if Finnick is capable of magic.

"Good morning, Annie," Finnick says cheerfully.

"Morning..." I greet, taking the plate he hands me and hesitantly returning the kiss he gives me.

"How are you feeling?" my mother mumbles from across the room. I start. Other than "I'm tired" these are the only words she's said to me since she's arrived from the hospital.

"Fine," I say. "I didn't wake you up last night, did I?"

"No, Finnick told me about what happened," she replies.

"Oh, good. I'm glad you slept well," I say. "After breakfast do you want to go do something? We can walk on the beach or go into town..."

"You guys are running low on food," Finnick puts in.

"If you don't mind, I would rather stay here..." my mother sighs.

"Oh...okay, that's fine. We do have to walk at least a mile today though," I warn her.

"I can't come with Annie anyway," Finnick insists. "I have to finish packing."

"I suppose I could go into town with you then," my mother rasps, standing. "I need to go change my bandages before we leave."

"Do you need any help?" I ask. Before I even finish my question, she replies with a harsh _No!_ and shuffles out of the room. I slump in my seat and look down at my plate. It feels like my mother is putting up walls against me. She doesn't want to get close to me again. Maybe, deep down inside, she really does blame me? Or maybe she just blames me, period.

"She's only been here one day, Annie," Finnick says, seeing my sad expression. "Give her time."

"I know," I sigh, glancing at her retreating figure. There is the shutting of a door, and Finnick and I are left in silence. Then I hear the muffled sounds of sobbing. My mother is far from okay. I hop out of my seat to comfort her, but Finnick grabs my hand.

"If she closed the door, she obviously doesn't want you hearing," he whispers.

"But she's all alone in there, crying..." I say, staring down the hallway.

"Trust me, just let her get it all out," Finnick advises, pulling me back down. "Like I said, give her time."

"Time," I repeat, resting my head on his shoulder. "What time are you leaving tomorrow?"

"Actually, I'm leaving this evening," he says.

"Oh."

"But I'll be back in about a week," he assures me hurriedly. I try to imagine a week without Finnick. My stomach sinks.

"I'll miss you," I mumble, plucking at a string on my shirt.

"Eh, I'll be back before you know it." Finnick grins. "And I'll be looking forward to our reunion."

I feel the blood rush up to my face and I mock scowl. Though he's trying to cheer me up, I can still feel the cold, iron grip of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. There is absolute silence in the house. My mother has stopped crying.

I sit up and stretch. "I should probably get ready to go. You want to come with us?"

"No, I wouldn't want to interfere with your mother-daughter bonding," he says. "Besides, I still have a few things to pack up."

I hesitate. "Make sure you come and get me before you leave."

"I will," Finnick assures me, pulling me back down for a kiss. After a second or two, he pulls away and stands up, walking towards the door. "Have fun with your mother."

"I'll try," I say. I watch him walk out the door. I have to remind myself that he will come back through that door soon enough. He's not going to leave me here, alone. Finnick would never do that.

I go back down the hallway to wash up for the trip to town. I'm actually rather glad that my mother agreed to go with me. Not only will she get her mile of walking done, but we'll have time to catch up with one another. This is definitely a good time to take her mind off of...other things. I just hope that she doesn't have to force herself too much.

We leave about an hour after Finnick does. There is little conversation as we walk down the long path from Victor's Village. The air is breezy and crisp with the coming winter. I remember that winter is my mother's favorite season because it was too cold for Father and Quincy and me to fish, so we were home more often.

"It's chilly out today," I say.

"Yes, it is," my mother replies. There is silence. Then, I hear a wonderful sound; my mother's quiet laughter.

"What?" I ask, curious and delighted at the same time.

"We're talking about the weather," my mother sighs. "It's funny. After nearly a month of not seeing each other, we're talking about the _weather_ of all things."

"Yes, I guess you're right," I say, allowing myself a small smile. Though I still don't quite understand. But it's just nice to see her happy again. My mother has always been a happy person, really. Always smiling, laughing, telling jokes. Always happy and optimistic. Until -

"Annie?"

"Ah, sorry."

"What were you thinking about?" my mother asks after a long silence. I'm surprised she's so curious about me.

"I was just thinking that it's nice to hear you laugh again," I confess, smiling. "I'm glad that you decided to come with me."

"Oh," she says, startled as if I'd said something strange. Have I?

There is another lingering silence, this one lasting for several minutes. It's not cold or unfriendly. In fact, it's quite companionable. It reminds me of the long walks on the beach we had Before. I am about to ask her if she wants to take the long way home, along the shore, but I hesitate. I think of how hastily she answered when I asked about walking on the shore. Perhaps she doesn't like the beach anymore. Understandable, I suppose. She lost her husband to that ocean.

"So," my mother says, interrupting my reverie once more. "You and that Finnick boy..."

I blush slightly, awaiting her verdict on him. I can't imagine that she would object. Suddenly, I feel horror. What if she does? What if she actually doesn't like Finnick? I can't go against my mother, not when she's the last family I have and certainly not in this condition she's in. But I love Finnick, so dearly. He has saved me time and time again; he accepts me for who I am, even if I'm incomplete.

"He's very nice," she begins. "I enjoy his company and he obviously loves you. Not to mention that he's very attractive."

I hold my breath, anticipating a "but."

"I have a problem with his activity in the Capitol, though," my mother says, frowning. "He told me what he does. I understand completely, but...are you sure you're okay with it?"

I'm rather surprised that Finnick told my mother about his "job." I'm even more surprised that she still approves of him. Monotonous relationships, faithful companionship, absolute trust; this goes against her every belief. Finnick must have said something moving in order to get her approval. I wonder what he said...?

"Annie?"

"I'm okay with it," I say without further hesitation.

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Completely."

My mother nods, but she still looks very concerned. Although I don't want her worried, it's nice to see her being herself again.

* * *

By the time we get back home, Finnick is waiting (rather impatiently, I might add) on our porch. When he sees us, a look of relief passes his features.

"I'm glad you finally made it," he breathes, striding over to me. "A few more minutes and I would have had to leave. I'm running late as it is."

"You're leaving?" I say shrilly. "Now?"

"I'm going inside," my mother mutters, taking the bag out of my numb arms and hurrying up the stairs, into the house. As soon as she's gone, Finnick takes me in his arms.

"I only have a few minutes, but I needed to tell you goodbye," he says quietly. I'm overwhelmed with a sense of vague emptiness. How peculiar this is, considering I've known about his trip since last week. I thought I was completely prepared for it. I thought that I would be strong for Finnick for once, instead of the other way around.

I thought wrong.

I cling to him desperately. I don't want him to go. Curiously, it's not the thought of him leaving that frightens me. He's already assured me that he's coming back. It's the thought of him in someone else's arms; a rich, most likely lovely, Capitol woman. Or women. The image sends an icy shiver down my spine. Perhaps this is what everyone meant when they asked if I was okay with Finnick leaving.

Finnick pulls away and stoops until he's eye level with me. "I have to leave now. Is there anything you need before I go?"

I open my mouth to say something, then close it.

"Anything, Annie. You name it."

"W-will you...kiss me?" I stutter, feeling the blood rush to my face immediately afterwards. I duck my head and study the ground with sudden interest. I'm embarrassed beyond belief, demanding affection from him. I can't even look at his face now. I wish I could take the words back. How hard would it have been to lie? _No, I don't need anything. Have a safe trip, darling._

Finnick takes my face in his hands and gently tilts my chin up so I have no choice but to look at him. Unless I close my eyes. Which I do, squeezing them shut firmly. I hear him chuckle. "Annie, what are you doing?"

"Nothing. Never mind, you don't have to kiss me. Have a safe trip," I say, keeping my eyes closed.

I can almost see him rolling his eyes and giving me that soft, charming smirk he always wears when I do something particularly childish. I hear a whoosh of air as he sighs. I feel his breath on my face, stirring my hair. I sense the warmth of his skin as he leans closer. I barely feel the brush of his lips against mine, as fleeting as the roll of a dolphin's back above the surface of the ocean. My eyes fly open, surprised by the intense innocence and sugary sweet implications tied to this kiss. It fills me with warmth. Finnick pulls back and blinds me with a smile. "There's your kiss."

I am speechless as he lets me go and appraises my shocked expression. He can't seem to stop smiling, as I can't seem to stop gawking. I attempt to speak, all that comes out is a squeak. Finnick laughs loudly and takes me in his arms again. He sighs. "I love you, Annie."

Once again, my voice has malfunctioned. This time I can't even seem to get a squeak through. He lets me go and steps by my frozen self in one fluid motion, smiling and waving as he walks down the path out of Victor's Village. I'm incapable of returning his hearty goodbye, but I do manage to raise my hand enough to pass for a farewell. The joyous warmth still fills the emptiness of his departure.

I stand outside for a long time. I'm not entirely sure how long. Long enough for the warmth to dissipate. Long enough for me to feel hollow again. Long enough for rainclouds to roll in. The first drizzle of a sure-to-be-fierce thunderstorm has left the smooth, stone path splattered when my mother pokes her head outside to check if Finnick's left yet. Her face contorts in confusion when she sees me standing out here alone.

"Annie?" she calls. Her voice tugs at something inside of me, but it soon disappears. She steps all the way outside and carefully maneuvers her way down the steps of the porch. She shuffles over to me and takes my hand. "Annie! You're so cold. Come inside so you don't get sick, dear."

I vacantly follow her inside, blinking away misty drops of rain as I do so. The storm gets steadily heavier as we slowly make our way to the house. My mother shuts the door just as the first roll of thunder grumbles solemnly on the horizon.

* * *

**Sorry this chapter took a bit longer than the others, I didn't get a chance to write over the holidays. This might be occurring more and more, I'm afraid. I've been really busy lately, and the work is not relenting. AT ALL. But I will do my very best to make sure you get chapters within at least a week of each other. **

**~Smurf **


	22. District Four: Circles

**Let's continue, shall we?**

* * *

**D**istrict** F**our -** C**ircles

* * *

Surprisingly enough, the week that Finnick is absent goes by rather quickly.

If you use the word "quickly" loosely. It isn't so much that it goes by fast, but rather that everything blurs together in a whirl of meaningless grey events. I _know_ what I am doing most of the time, but I can't _feel_ what I am doing. My mind is an empty black void, sucking in meaning and spewing out nothing.

My mother has been treating me with extra care, as if I could shatter at any moment. Which is odd, because I should be the one taking care of her. I suppose I'm just a burden to yet another person. This realization only adds to my misery.

"Are you feeling well, Annie?" my mother asks me as I stir food around on my plate. "You haven't eaten anything."

"I just miss Finnick," I say, not looking away from my pallet of soggy food. "But I guess today's the last day."

"The last day?" my mother repeats, stretching the statement into a question.

"Yes, Finnick will be home tomorrow. It's been a week," I explain.

My mother stares at me with genuine pity for a long moment. "Annie, it hasn't been a week. It's only been one day."

I cock my head to the side, furrowing my eyebrows together. Of course it hasn't just been one day. It's too much time for that. My mother, noticing my confusion, simply inquires, "How many times have you gone to bed since Finnick left?"

"Six," I say automatically.

"Think, Annie," my mother urges. I do, concentrating. Last night, I remember feeling numb because I was without Finnick. The night before that...the night before that I had the nightmare, and Finnick -

I gasp, realizing that my mother is right. What I thought had been a week had really only been one day. How can time shift like that? It isn't fair, not at all! How can it be a week for me, but a day for everyone else? How can I be so stupid as to actually believe the illusion that it was such a long time? No, not stupid. Mad. Crazy. Insane.

My mother senses my irritation and tries to soothe me. "It's not that unusual, Annie. Time goes by slowly when we're not enjoying ourselves."

"Time goes by slowly, but not six days worth of slowly," I say, though I'm sure I'm making no sense. "Only a mad person would believe that a week had gone by when it's only been a day."

"That isn't true!" my mother objects. "I was like that in the hospital."

"You were unconscious, Mother," I say, rubbing my head with the heel of my hand. "It's not the same!"

"Annie - " she begins again.

"I'm going to bed," I say, eager to get this day over with. I push myself away from the table and storm upstairs, resisting the temptation to slam the door behind me. Whatever this is, it isn't my mother's fault. There's no need to make her feel worse than she already does.

I dress into my night clothes and crawl into bed, curling underneath the blankets. Hopefully I don't wake up tomorrow thinking it's been a month.

* * *

_I'm running through the streets of the Capitol. I don't have time to admire the pretty lights or the exotic people or the candy-colored buildings. I also don't have time to marvel at the flat black sky. I'm too busy._

_I'm looking for someone._

_I don't know who, I don't know why, I just know that I am. I can't seem to will myself to stop looking. I try to ask the people in the Capitol, but every time I tap on their shoulder they disappear. If I try to talk without touching them, they run away._

_Soon I am alone, nothing but the pounding of my feet on the cobblestones to echo through the maze of streets. Every building I pass is drained of color. Every light floats into the sky and disolves into the black. All greenery dies in my passing. Eventually I run into a spot that's already dead, all buildings grey, no lights in sight. I've been running in circles. I've been getting nowhere at all. My efforts have been a complete waste._

_I crumple to the ground, holding my head in my hands. I couldn't find him, couldn't save him. He's gone now._

_"What if he doesn't want to be rescued?" someone says. I look up to find that the blank midnight sky has parted like clouds to reveal a face. Handsome and bronze, with eyes the color of sea foam and a smile that will stop your heart in a second. Finnick's face. But his expression is not Finnicks; it reminds me of President Snow, mean and taunting. I cover my ears again, but I can still hear his voice. It's not Finnick's voice. It's the President's. "What if he doesn't want to be rescued? He doesn't care about you anymore, silly girl! Go away, and leave him be. Leave him be."_

_Finnick is walking down the street suddenly. I cry out in alarm. Behind him are twenty, fifty, one-hundred beautiful women. They are all infatuated with him, and he with them. All of them make me look like the silly little girl that President Snow has just described._

_There is a methodical ticking. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock...I look up again to find that President Snow's face is now a clock. Though it is ticking, it's hands are not moving. I look down at my own hands. They are wrinkly and frail, like Mags' hands. Finnick is still as young and lovely as ever. He doesn't see me even though he walks right past me. But all his followers do. Each and every woman drags her manicured nail along the sagging flesh of my throat in rhythm with the ticking of the clock. Tick-_scratch_-tock, tick-_scratch_-tock, tick-_scratch_-tock. I scream in agony. Make it stop, make it stop!_

_When the last woman drags her finger across my throat, there is blood on it. Lagging behind, she inspects her finger and, after a moment of consideration, drags her abnormally long tongue up the length of it. She gives me a wicked smile and runs that very same finger down my cheek until she reaches my chin and gives my head a sharp twist. The sound of a thousand snapping twigs erupts in my ears._

I wake up with a gasp. The area around me is soaked in cold sweat. I feel like a fish out of water, gasping for breath and struggling to wriggle out of bed. When I finally do, I collapse on the floor with a thud. I clutch my elbow, which I landed on at an odd angle. Dull pain crawls up my arm.

I don't have time for that now. Is Finnick okay? What is he doing right now? I cringe when the most probable answer comes to mind. The thought hurts me worse than my elbow.

My mother bursts in the room, flicking on the light. "Annie? Are you okay? I heard a crash." She sees me on the floor, doubled over in pain. She rushes over to me and helps me off the ground while pelting me with questions. "Annie! What's the matter? Did you fall out of bed? Oh! You're drenched! Was it another nightmare? Do you want to tell me what it was about? Let me get you some tea before you answer. Stay here."

My mother hurries out of the room, leaving me sitting on the damp bed. I take this moment to gather my wits. I'm still dissoriented, so I work on desiphering what she told me backwards, like Dr. Greenswilsh taught me. _She told me to stay here. I can do that. She's getting me tea. I like her tea. I don't want to tell her about my nightmare. I'll have to make something up. I can't burden her with that information. Yes, it was a nightmare. I am drenched in cold sweat. I'll need to change my sheets before I try to go back to sleep. I wonder if Mother will let me sleep with her, just for tonight. I don't want to be in here alone._

But by the time my mother comes back in with tea and some new linens, the only thought running through my mind is the echo of the snapping twigs.

"Now," she says, handing me the cup of steaming tea and setting the sheets on the bed. "Why don't you tell me about your nightmare?"

I can't think of anything to replace the horrible dream, so I simply tell her that I can't remember it before hiding my face by taking a sip of tea. It tastes strangely sweet. Perhaps she put sugar in it instead of honey, since we can afford sugar on a regular basis now. To my surprise, my mother doesn't pester me. She nods in understanding and waits for me to finish my tea before changing the sheets. By the time she does this, I'm swaying with fatigue. I now realize that it wasn't sugar my mother put in the tea.

"You drugged me," I accuse, catching myself on the side of the bed when I fall.

"I'm sorry, Annie. I had to," she pleas with me, begging my forgiveness with her eyes. "You need sleep, and you aren't going to get it in your state, not without..." I assume her next words were "not without Finnick" or "not without medication" but I am plunged into blackness before she even finishes her sentence.

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, I don't feel refreshed or like I've gotten any sleep. In fact, I feel worse than I did before. My head is throbbing painfully, my thoughts are clouded, and bile floods my mouth. The sleep syrup my mother gave me did nothing to help me rest. Sleep, yes, but rest, no. It kept me trapped in my nightmares, bound by chains of sedation. My dream-self couldn't even move. I could only endure hours and hours of torture, without the chance to scream.

I lay there for a long time, unwilling to face my mother. I know it's not her fault; she had no idea what the sleep syrup would do to me. Nevertheless, I don't want to see her right now.

The ribbons of light coming through the window tell me that it's well into the afternoon. At least one good thing did come out of all this; it was one less day I'd have to spend without Finnick. There had been _plenty _of Finnick in my dreams.

I am wondering if I can get away with just laying here until the end of the week when my mother shyly pokes her head in. "Annie?"

I don't answer, but I don't pretend to be sleeping either.

"Annie?" she says with a little more urgency. I sigh, and sit up on my elbows. I instantly regret it, feeling the blunt pain of a severe bruise on my right arm. I wince. My mother recoils, thinking I've cringed in the memory of what she's done, not in the newfound discomfort of my elbow. "Sorry, I...I thought you'd be hungry."

My stomach gurgles. I am very hungry, after not eating all day. The thought of refusing her food purely out of spite briefly crosses my mind, but I know I can't do that. I'm sure she feels guilty enough already. "Yes, I am."

She reveals a tray loaded with breakfast items from behind the door. "I even bought strawberries. Your favorite."

"Thank you," I mumble, digging into breakfast as soon as she sets it down on the bed. There is a long silence as she watches me eat. When I'm about halfway through the meal, she clears her throat. I listen in anticipation of what she could possibly have to say.

"I know you're probably angry with me," she says helplessly, looking down at the sheets. "But you must understand; I just wanted you to get a good nights sleep. These past two nights have been disastrous for you, I know, and I thought I could help but...by the look on your face, I only made it worse."

My hateful intentions dissolve. I sigh in defeat and put down my fork. How can I stay mad at her? She was only trying to help, do what she thought best for me. Even if what she thought was best was actually worse than what I had to start out with. "I'm not mad at you, Mother. Just...a little betrayed, I guess. I wasn't expecting you to drug me."

"I know, and I'm very sorry!" she says. "I promise that I won't do it again! I felt horrible afterwards, so I can only imagine how you feel."

_Like the bottom of a barrel,_ I think. Instead I say, "Well, I did get a good nights sleep."

My mother frowns. "Don't you lie to me, Annie. I can see very well that you did not have a peaceful night."

I don't attempt to argue with her, since what she says is the truth. Instead, I look out the window. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday evening," my mother sighs. "Finnick will be back - "

" - Friday," I finish. Nearly three more days.

Oh, joy.

* * *

I sleep off the sleep syrup most of the rest of Tuesday, and do almost nothing more than sit and watch the clouds go by on Wednesday. By Thursday I am ready to race up to the Capitol and drag Finnick back myself. The desperate desire for his presence wiggles at the back of my mind at all times, whether I'm really thinking about him or not. I've also found that, since my disturbing dream, I feel less like...well, frankly, less like a woman. I'm constantly comparing myself to the other females I see walking around the town, something I've never done before. I've always been fairly confident when it comes to things like vanity. I've never thought myself ugly, nor drop-dead gorgeous, but I always considered myself pretty at the very least. I don't feel pretty anymore. I feel silly and cute, a lost puppy next to Finnick. No competition compared to the enticing Capitol women.

My mother sends me on errands early Thursday morning when she sees that leaving me to my thoughts makes my melancholy worse. I'm scrambling about the town all day, picking something up here, dropping off something there, saying hello to everyone. By the time I trudge back to the house Thursday afternoon, my arms are full of groceries and I'm ready to drop dead from exhaustion, which could also be part of my mother's strategy.

As I pass the rows of houses in Victor's Village, I hear an unfamiliar voice. It's raspy and hoarse, with a nasal undertone. "Hey, girlie!"

As I'm the only "girlie" walking around, I turn towards the speaker. She looks very old and frail, hooked up to at least two machines and stationed comfortably in a wheelchair, which is surrounded by bottles. I recognize her as Constance Truman, the morphling addict. She speaks again.

"Girlie! C'mere a sec!" she croons, her voice so ragged that her words barely reach my ears.

"Um...why?" I say as politely as I can. Constance has never had anything to do with me, so why is she calling me now?

She cackles profanely. "'Cause, girlie! I'm dying!"

"What?" I say. "Now?"

"Yes, now! So c'mere!" she calls, waving me over as if it were a celebration.

"Shouldn't we call a doctor?" I ask, hesitantly scooting over to her and placing my bags down. Up close it's clear that those bottles are liquor. Constance's eyes are bright with it, a strong contrast against her yellow skin.

"Doctor? Psh!" she snorts, waving a hand. "I already got one here! She's good-for-nothin' as it is! Already told me I was gonna die today. 'No way around it,' she says. Well, I figure I might as well enjoy it while it lasts!"

"I suppose that makes sense," I agree, though I find it hard to believe the nurse would say such a discouraging thing. Constance does look like she's in a bad condition. She's twitchy and flinchy, and she's constantly popping a pill then taking a swing from a bottle. I don't know a lot about medicine, but even I know this isn't a healthy thing. It's hard to believe that Constance could be any less healthy.

"Want a swing?" she asks suddenly, thrusting a bottle in my face. "Ain't got enought to last me anyways. I can feel death comin'."

With every pop and every swing, Constance's grammar gets more and more atrocious, something I know my my mother won't be able to stand for. I gingerly take the bottle, but I don't make any attempt to drink from it. "Constance, are you sure that you should be doing this? It can't be good for you. Maybe your nurse should come out..."

"My nurse awready left!" Constance snaps. "She bailed soons she seen the signs. I'm dyin', awright. Whatcha doin', sittin' there all stupid with that bottle? Drink, girlie! Drink!" She puts her hand over mine and presses the bottle against my lips, tipping the spirits into my mouth until it dribbles down my face. I have to knock her hand away to get her to stop. Fire runs down my throat, into my belly. It's unpleasant and unwelcome, but Constance nods in approval. "There you go, girlie. Drink up! Celebrate the circles of life and death!"

"I should really go home..." I say, wishing the flames of the liquor would go. Constance grabs my wrist tightly, anchoring me to the porch.

"You really gonna leave a dyin' woman by herself?" she squawks, giving me an accusing glare. "Live for once, girlie! You been mopey all week! Drink up, enjoy youth and life whiles you gots it!"

I open my mouth to object, but she simply thrusts another bottle into my hand. "Try that, I guarrentee you won't be mopey no more. You don't get any of these though," she says, waving a white pill in my face. "These are for ol' Constance here."

She stares at me expectantly until I take another swing from the bottle. It's really not as bad a second time around. In fact it's almost...thrilling. I can already feel my thoughts fogging up and melting together. I can feel bubbly nonsense sprouting in my veins. A giggle slips through my lips. Constance gives me a toothless smile. "There you go, girlie! Now I can die in peace." She settles back in her chair, as if she can die on command. She even closes her eyes. Then she opens them, as if she remembered something. "Say, girlie, I never gots your name."

"Annie Cresta," I chortle before going in a fit of guffaws.

"Nice name," Constance says, nodding. "Your mama raised you up good, girlie."

I nod, taking another swing.

"Say, will yous come to my funeral?" Constance asks. "Nobody else gonna come."

"Will too," I object, suddenly serious. "The whole town'll come to your funeral."

"You think so?"

"Yes, I do. You _are_ a victor," I slur incomprehensibly. I've lost count of how much alcohol I've consumed.

"Thanks, girlie," Constance says, with tears in her eyes. "That means a lot."

And then she closes her eyes and says no more. I take another swing. Then I shake her arm. "Constance?"

There's no answer. I take another swing and struggle to my feet. I wobble down the steps of Constance's house, leaving everything but my bottle. I stagger to my own home, where I burst through the door to find my mother making dinner in the kitchen. She freezes when she sees my state. "Annie?"

"Hey, Mama," I say, adopting Constance's reference to my mother.

"Annie? What on Earth?" she comes close enough to smell the liquor on my breath. "Are you...are you _drunk_?"

I giggle. "Yes. And guess what else?"

"What?" my mother says suspiciously.

"Constance Truman, you know her?"

"Yes..." my mother says, steel lacing her voice. She obviously thinks this is all Constance's fault. Which, in a way, it is. I giggle again, covering my mouth to keep spirits off the floor. Then I make a motion to my mother. She leans in until my lips are at her ear. When she's good and close, I tell her the news about Constance.

"She's dead," I whisper, followed by another fit of giggles. My mother's face goes white as paper. She jerks away from me and gapes.

"What did you say?"

"She's dead. Gone. The nurse packed up and went away 'cause she knew she was gonna die," I explain, sloshing the contents of my bottle around. "Constance told me to celebrate the circle of life."

My mother takes the bottle from my hand and instructs me to go to my room. I'm very unhappy about this, and I don't oblige. She finally gives up and settles with keeping the bottle of spirits away from me. Then she goes over to Constance's house, stopping at the other victor's houses along the way. Mags takes me back to my house and eventually gets me to go to bed. The rest of the victors clean up the mess with Constance, calling the doctor from town so he can take a look. I'm asleep before he gets even here, worn out by all of my giggling.

* * *

**Hope I didn't disappoint. **

**~Smurf **


	23. District Four: Marry Me

**As I was skimming through this story, I realized...I wrote a freakin' novel. Seriously, have you _seen_ how long this story is? Why can't English papers be so easy to write, I wonder? **

* * *

**D**istrict **F**our -** M**arry **M**e

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, I feel awful. My head is throbbing, every bone in my body aches, I have an absolutely disgusting taste in my mouth, and I can barely open my eyes without flinching away from the bright light. As much as I wish to just lay here and go back to sleep, I find that I must hastily will myself out of bed so I can make it to the toilet to retch the alcohol away. This is what my mother would call a hangover.

I will never drink alcohol again.

I don't remember a lot from last night, and what I do remember is sketchy and questionable. But there is good news: today is Friday. Finnick comes home today. I obviously don't want him to see me in this condition. Luckily, my mother comes in with a glass of water.

"Thank you," I rasp, taking the water.

"_What_ on_ Earth _were you _thinking_?" my mother scolds, scowling down at me. "Getting drunk with Mrs. Truman while she's _on her death bed_? Do you know how disappointed I am in you? I've told you time and time again to never drink alcohol in large quantities like this, and what do you do? Exactly the _opposite_ of what I asked! Your behavior last night was unacceptable and disrespectful. Mrs. Truman just died, and you were giggling about it! _Giggling_! Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Constance Truman died?" I whisper, wincing. I don't remember that at all.

"Yes, she did. You were present for it, in fact," my mother spits. "And you didn't seem in the least bit sad, might I add. Her funeral's today, so it's the least you can do to go."

"Of course I will," I say, attempting normal volume and cringing. "If I'm better by then."

"You'll be better as long as you drink plenty of water and get a nice hot shower," my mother sighs, helping me off the ground. "You know, if I were in my right mind I would punish you. But I think you've learned your lesson. You should feel ashamed."

"I do feel ashamed," I say. And it's true. I'm ashamed that I got drunk and that I laughed when Constance died. I didn't even really know her, but I was the only one she beckoned to when she was dying.

My mother leaves and I get a hot shower like she suggests. By the afternoon I'm feeling a lot better. I get ready for the funeral, dressing in the appropriate grey funeral attire. My mother does the same. I hear that only the other victors are attending.

The funeral is to be held at Constance's house at dusk. She never really liked the ocean, so everyone thought it would be inappropriate to cremate her in the traditional District Four style. They are burying her in front of her house, where she spent most of her time. The house isn't to be used for another victor again.

When my mother and I step outside, twilight hangs heavily in the air, bathing everything in warm shades of pink and stretching shadows to impossible lengths. I am overwhelmed with shock when I see that Mags and Ore are the only ones who have come to the funeral. There is a wooden box sitting next to a soon-to-be grave and two sweaty laborers. Also a headstone that simply says her name. No message underneath. Constance never got married and she had no children. She had no siblings. She was truly a lonely soul.

"Where's everyone else?" I ask Mags.

"Didn't come," she replies with a sigh.

"No one really liked Constance, I'm afraid," Ore adds. "Too grizzly, they say. Mags and I are simply here out of respect."

"She doesn't have anyone who's here because they cared about her?" I say, appalled.

Mags and Ore shake their heads. I look sadly at the headstone, blank and sullen. Constance wasn't pleasant, but she doesn't deserve this. Still, I can't think of anything I can do to make it better.

"Can we get a move on?" one of the diggers asks. "Anyone got any words before we finish this?"

It is silent. The other man shrugs and they each take an end of box, gently lowering Constance inside the hole. When they can't reach any further, they let go. She lands with a thud. Mags and Ore take their leave as the diggers begin piling dirt back into the hole.

"Come on, Annie," my mother says, following their lead. I shake my head. This isn't right. Someone should stay and do _something_. Say something. Anything. I wish I could, but I still can't think of anything that would make a difference. I knew Constance Truman for one drunken hour. That isn't enough. But Constance, no matter how cranky, deserves someone to cry for her, to miss her. Everyone deserves at least that.

I let the tears flow.

* * *

It is well into the night before Finnick comes home. I'm waiting outside on the porch for him, taking in the smell of freshly upturned dirt wafting from Constance's grave. The diggers finished quite a while ago. I stayed until they were done. They didn't say anything to me.

When I finally see his vague form shuffling down the path to Victor's Village, I can't contain my smile. I race down the steps and the path, running right up until I reach his arms. He gives a little sound of surprise, probably assuming I'd stop running before I embraced him. He's wrong. Luckily, he does catch me or else we'd both be toppling to the hard stone ground. Not my best idea.

"Finnick!" I exclaim, utterly relieved. "I'm so glad you're home!"

"I can tell," he chuckles, sighing into my hair. "I'm glad I'm home, too."

He releases me, grinning. "Did I miss anything?"

"Only everything," I say, flashing him a smile. "Come on inside. Unless you want to put up your luggage first."

"No, I think I'll stay with you tonight," he sighs, wrapping an arm around my waist and towing me towards the door. "If that's okay with you?"

"Of course," I say, feeling myself flush.

"Annie? Are you having naughty thoughts?" Finnick teases.

This, of course, only makes me blush even more. "No!"

"It's good to be back," he snickers as we step onto the porch. Cupping my chin in his hand, he tilts my head down and kisses me on the forehead before stepping inside. I hesitate at the door, pushing my hair back to finger the spot. I recall that immature, childish feeling I've been experiencing recently. Why is that popping up now?

My mother and Finnick are chatting when I step inside, closing the door behind me. I plop down beside Finnick, unwilling to be away from him after so long. Mother and I set to the task of catching Finnick up on what has happened, everything from my nightmare (which I say I don't remember) to Constance's funeral. It's a sad, solemn story, one that I allow my mother to tell most of. Finnick doesn't tell us anything about his trip.

He is also acting peculiar. I'm very aware that he hasn't kissed me yet, save for the peck on the forehead at the door. And, while I understand that it's not possible with my mother in the room, there arises several opportunities after she heads to bed. Opportunities, I might add, that Finnick would have taken before this trip.

I can't help thinking that my girlishness next to the Capitol women is the cause of him avoiding me. The President's voice echoes through my head. _Silly little girl...silly little girl...silly little girl..._I don't share my insecurities with Finnick, of course. I'm not sure if it's because I know he would laugh at me and deny them, or if I think he would laugh at me and confirm them.

I stifle a yawn. It's been a couple hours since Finnick arrived. Mother left for bed a while ago.

"Tired?" Finnick inquires.

"Yes," I say, stretching and standing up. After a moment of hesitation I ask, "Are you spending the night?"

He takes my hand. "Of course."

He waits for me while I get changed. We crawl into bed and settle under the covers. Finnick keeps his arm around me, as if unwilling to let me go. It makes me feel a little better. That is, until he ruins it all with his stubborn intuition.

"So, what was your nightmare really about?" he asks.

"I don't remember it, like I said," I retort, though my voice cracks at the end. Only Finnick.

"You always remember," he challenges, shifting so the full force of his eyes penetrate me. "Tell me. Please?"

I'm torn. Finally I decide to persist in resisting and shake my head, not trusting my voice at this point.

"Pretty please?" he persuades, blinking at me through his long lashes.

"You know that stuff won't work on me," I sniff, although this isn't true. It's worked on me before.

"I can only assume I was involved then," he continues, sighing.

"Maybe you were," I hint. Immediately I realize I shouldn't have said anything, because Finnick was just teasing. But when his hidden worries are confirmed, he freezes. There's only one thing about Finnick that would cause me to have nightmares, and we both know what that is.

"What was your dream about?" Finnick growls, sitting up on his elbow and looming over me. I bite my lip. There's no way he's going to let it go now.

"Annie. I need to know. Please."

With a sigh, I begin the retelling of my dream. I'm a little surprised that I remember everything so well, because I don't leave out even one excruciating detail. When I'm finally done with the summary, Finnick is still as a stone beside me. His arms are folded underneath his head and his eyes are closed. Anyone would be fooled into thinking he was asleep, if they didn't feel the storm raging inside of him like I do. He's trying to keep calm, I can tell, but for once he's not succeeding.

"Annie...you have nothing to worry about," he says finally, opening his eyes and glancing over at me. "I don't care about any of those people."

I don't say anything.

"Do you really think that you're just a girl compared to them? They're all selfish and cruel and spoiled. And when it comes to appearance, they're all freakish, even verging on grotesque. You have absolutely nothing to worry about," he repeats.

"It's just that...I don't like that they have you in a way that I don't," I confess slowly, half burying my face in my pillow.

"They don't have me in any way, Annie. You have me in every way. I love _you_, and only you," says Finnick. "And that's why I don't want to rush into things right now. I want to make it last."

"Really? You're not just feeding me corny, romantic stuff to get me to quit whining?" I say, forcing a little smile.

"I wouldn't call it corny...but yes, I mean it," he says, suddenly intense and serious. "Every word of it."

I finally smile for real this time. "Thank you, Finnick. I don't think I have to say how I feel about you."

"Say it just in case, so there's no misunderstanding," he says slyly.

Laughing, I say, "I love you, Finnick."

"I'm glad we understand each other," Finnick says, feigning solemnity. "Now, to seal it with a kiss."

I put my first two fingers on his lips as he descends to kiss me. "Finnick?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you marry me?"

He opens one eye, staring down at me sadly. "Annie, you know we can't do that because of my 'job.'"

"Not _now_," I clarify, blushing. "I'm too young anyway. But I think that one day we'll be able to."

"When I'm too old for the Capitol girls, you mean?" he inquires, confused.

"No, I think it'll be before then," I say, pondering the thought. "I think it'll happen, sooner than you think."

"Okay, then. I accept," Finnick says. "One day, sooner than you think, we'll get married."

I can tell he doesn't believe it, but I do. The future is full of possibilities. I grin. "You may kiss the bride!"

And we seal the deal with a kiss.

* * *

**This is the last chapter before the epilogue, I'm sorry to say. I'm also sorry for any _Mockingjay_ spoilers, I tried to keep them as few as possible for people who haven't read it yet. **

**If you thought this chapter was mushy, I deeply apologize. I hope I didn't trigger your gag reflex too bad. **

**~Smurf **


	24. Epilogue: A Birthday Party

****Mockingjay Spoiler Alert** **

**There are A LOT of Mockingjay spoilers in this chapter, so if you haven't read it already then I suggest you don't proceed. If you have, then commence reading!**

* * *

**E**pilogue -** A B**irthday** P**arty

* * *

I sit on the beach, watching my two-year-old son wobble along the shore. He keeps to the shallowest of the waves, merely letting them lick his tiny, plump feet before squealing and backing away. His back side is damp with saltwater and sand, for he falls backwards on his unsteady legs often.

I sigh and chuckle to myself. He looks more and more like Finnick every day. The only thing he inherited from me was his shock of curly brown hair. But he has Finnick's bronze skin and his magnificent green eyes.

His name is Finnick Jonathan Quincy Odair, but everyone calls him Finn. Finnick and I were going to name him Jonathan Quincy, after my father and my brother, but he looks so much like Finnick that I had to give him his father's name.

Finn is the light of my life. At the tender age of two, he already knows so much. He knows how to paddle along the ocean fairly well, as long as someone is holding him afloat. He asks about his father often, because he knows that I like him to. Even though Finnick's death still sends a sharp knife of sorrow through me, I want Finn to remember him. Which is hard to accomplish, considering that he's never even met Finnick.

I can already tell that Finn will have a difficult life, and it saddens me. It's been almost three years since the rebellion ended. People are rebuilding and healing, but there are still bitter and curious feelings throughout all of Panem. It's the first time since Panem was established that people can travel freely among the districts. People are still getting used to other people. Me, I prefer to stay in good old District Four - oh, sorry. We call it Aequoris now. Anyway, I think President Paylor's doing a pretty good job with reconstruction.

Even if reconstruction wasn't going on, Finn would still need to be careful. But already, at two, he knows to go get Grandma if Mommy locks herself up in her room. He knows to never go in the water when Grandma is with him at the beach. Already, at two, he's so careful and so smart and so kind. He honestly doesn't behave like a two-year-old should.

Sometimes I wonder if this is a bad thing. Should I let him enjoy his childhood, give him less responsibility? I know it's selfish of me, but I can't seem to let Finn go. I won't ever let him go.

I stand. "Come on, Finn! It's time to eat dinner!"

Finn pretends to ignore me.

"Finn!" I call. "If you don't get over here, the Sea Monster's going to get you!"

He turns to me and giggles before running in the opposite direction. This will probably irritate me in the near future, but it's so cute now that I can't be mad at him. I chase after him and make roaring noises like my father used to do when I was little. It doesn't take long for me to catch up to him and scoop him up. I spin him around in the air, listening to his delighted squeals and screams.

"Again!" he cooes as I stop spinning him and head towards home.

"After dinner," I say.

He huffs. "Again!"

"Like this?" I say, throwing him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and walking towards the house. My mother and I both decided to move back to our old home when we came back to Distr - ah, I mean Aequoris. There is no more Victor's Village. The houses are still there, but no one is required to live in them anymore. A lot of our elderly victors died in the war, anyway. I feel a sharp jab of pain as I remember Mags, who gave up her life to replace me at the Quarter Quell. Dear, kind Mags. She knew exactly how much it would hurt me, not only to go back in the Hunger Games, but to fight Finnick. Even now, it makes my breath panicky.

"Mommy?" Finn says softly. I start, realizing that he's been saying something and I've been too wrapped up in my own thoughts to pay attention. Shame floods through me. It's times like this when I feel like I'm a horrible mother.

"I'm sorry, Finn. I was just thinking about something. You want down?" I say, using my nicest voice possible.

"Yes!" he cries.

I put him down and he takes my hand and walks with me. Normally he tries to escape, but he must not want me to zone out again. The shame becomes stronger.

I really do wish I could be a better mother to Finn. He's such a good child. If it wasn't for him, I probably wouldn't even be alive. Without Finnick, I wouldn't have had the will to keep living. But he left me Finn. I had to take care of Finn. And I haven't loved anyone so dearly since Finnick.

Finnick's promise suddenly runs across my mind. _I'll always come back. _Even though he didn't come back from the Capitol three long years ago, I still feel like he hasn't broken his promise. Finnick, even in death, never breaks his promises.

"Grandma!" Finn shouts, slipping his small hand out of mine and toddling to my mother. She's nearly sixty. I'm twenty-four. Time has changed us drastically, since that day. The day of the reaping. The day that changed everything.

I smile softly at Finn as he rambles on about his day with my mother. Finn will never have to worry about reapings or the Hunger Games. He won't ever have to worry about hunger, for that matter. The new Panem is setting it's past aside and preparing for future generations. It was Finnick's dream and, to some degree, it is my dream. I'm glad that we finally got that dream fulfilled.

_I love you, Finnick_, I think to myself._ And I miss you, more than you can know. Happy birthday_.

I follow my mother and the babbling Finn inside, closing the door behind us.

* * *

**THE END! **

**A huge thank you all of those who reviewed and/or put me on their favorites list. **

**I would also like to thank Suzanne Collins for writing such a magnificent story. It gives me great pleasure to both read it and write about it. **

**I hope you enjoyed this story and, just for the record, I'm not doing a sequel. Sorry, but I think I've dedicated quite enough time and effort into this story and I think it came to a satisfying close. **

**Once again, I thank you all. **

**~Smurf **


End file.
